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Sir Jefferson Nobody 


Effie W. Merriman 



Chicago 

A. C. Me Clurg and Company 
1898 

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18395 


Copyright 

By a. C. McCLURG & CO. 
A. D. i8q8 


OCT 311898 1 

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MY GOOD FRIEND AND TEACHER 

IL. dFifielti 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY 
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ILLUSTRATIONS 


Jeff Was Allowed to Rock Him 

TO Sleep. Frontispiece 


The Children Whispered Their 

Last Words OF Farewell . facing page 34 

He is a Wanderer, and I Took. 

Him In. “ 62 

Mrs. Staples Watched Her Fur¬ 
tively . “ 116 

He Had Decided to Keep the 

Baby. “ 162 

“We Must Bury Him To-morrow,’’ 

SAID THE Doctor ... “ 216 

“Jeff,” She Said Softly, “I Think 

I Know How You Feel” . . “ 244 


Paul and Minnie Gazed at Him for 
THE Space of a Second 


266 






SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


CHAPTER I 

Just at the close of a bleak November day, a 
boy emerged from the kitchen doorway of an old- 
fashioned farmhouse, and with difficulty made 
his way through the drifting snow, which a 
dreary wind seemed to bring from every direc¬ 
tion, to pile up between the house and barn. 
He whistled softly, more from habit than be¬ 
cause his heart was light; for at the moment he 
was thinking of just such a day, nearly two years 
ago, when he and sister Minnie had been brought 
to live with old Farmer Staples and his wife. 
His father had been buried that day—the dear, 
kind father, who had been father and mother, 
too, for ever and ever so long. In reality, the 
father had died in less than a year after the 
death of his wife, but in looking back upon 
those dreary months when the little family had 
tried to be cheerful without her it seemed to Paul 
as if it must be very much longer than that. 

The father had known that he should not be 


7 



8 


S/H JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


allowed to remain long with his children, and a 
few weeks before his death he had written to an 
only brother, asking him to care for them. There 
was no reply to that letter, or to the next, which 
was sent a fortnight later. 

Many years ago a bitter quarrel had separated 
the two brothers, and pride had prevented a 
reconciliation. 

“But,” said Paul’s father, when telling the 
children about it, “I have always loved brother 
John in spite of the quarrel, and I have no doubt 
of his love for me. He will not let my children 
suffer. Something has delayed his letter. Per¬ 
haps he is planning to visit me—to take me by 
surprise; or it may be he was not at home, and 
has not yet seen my letter. There is some good 
reason, you may be sure. He will make a home 
for you, my darlings, when I am gone.” 

But the hopeful father was destined not to see 
his brother again on earth. The summons came 
quickly—almost without warning. Miss Cassie 
Branch, a dear old lady whom everyone called 
aunt, although she had not a relative in the 
world, came to care for the house and the chil¬ 
dren until the father had been laid away, and 
they could be provided for. No one believed 
the uncle would ever come for the children; that 
is, no one except themselves. The little home 
was sold, and, when the debts were paid, it was 
found that the children were almost penniless. 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 


9 


Aunt Cassie bought them the clothing they 
most needed, and then set to work to find homes 
for them. 

It was not an easy thing to do in a community 
where there were as many little folks in every 
home as could well be fed and clothed; but the 
kind-hearted woman was not easily discour¬ 
aged. 

In the township adjoining that in which the 
children had spent the greater part of their short 
lives, there was a home in which there were no 
children at all. It belonged to Farmer Staples 
and his wife. Aunt Cassie sewed for them every 
year for one week, and had done so several 
years. While not very favorably impressed with 
them, she knew nothing against them, and so 
she decided to ask them to take both children. 

“I can’t bear to separate them,” she 
thought, ‘‘and even if the Stapleses don’t make 
them very happy, they’ll be company for each 
other. ” 

Aunt Cassie pleaded successfully. Papers 
were made out wherein they agreed to keep the 
children until Paul became of age, and do by 
them as they would have done by their own had 
they had any. To please the children. Aunt 
Cassie had a clause inserted to the effect that 
should the long-looked-for uncle put in an ap¬ 
pearance he was to have the children by paying 
at the rate of one dollar and a half per week 


lO SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 

apiece for such time as they had lived in the 
house. 

Every day since that time Paul and Minnie 
had wondered if that would not prove to be the 
day of Uncle John’s arrival. 

Two long years! And such hard years as 
they had been! The children were now called 
Paul and Minnie Staples, much to their dissatis¬ 
faction, and no one seemed to remember that 
their real name was Hawthorne. 

“If Uncle John should come,” they said, 
“how would he ever find us?’’ and then came the 
fear that he had come and gone without finding 
them. 

On this day Paul fed Dobbin, the horse, and 
the yoke of black oxen, and the four noisy pigs, 
and the great flock of poultry, and the twelve 
patient sheep, and the impatient young stock in 
the lean-to at the end of the barn; then he fed 
and milked the two good-natured cows, and all 
the while his mind was so busy with the past that 
he worked like one in a dream, and he would 
hardly have believed you had you told him he 
was whistling. 

When the pail was full of foaming milk, Paul 
set it down just outside the door, where dirt 
would not fall into it, and walked through the 
barn once more to see that everything was made 
right for the night. Then the great barn door 
was closed and fastened, and he turned to pick 


S/I? yEjFFEJ?S 02 \r NOBODT II 

up the pail of milk. Just at that moment he 
heard Minnie utter a sharp cry of dismay. 

“Oh,” he thought, “poor little Minnie has 
broken another dish, and now she’ll be pun¬ 
ished!” 

His fingers were numb with cold, and his 
arms ached with weariness, but his only thought 
was to reach Minnie as quickly as possible. He 
picked up the heavy pail of milk, but in his ex¬ 
citement he could not have been as careful as he 
should have been considering the state of his 
fingers. It slipped from his hands, overturning 
completely, and soon the rich milk formed a 
frozen pool by the barnyard door. 

For a moment the poor child was almost para¬ 
lyzed with fright. Then, picking up the pail, 
he choked back the big lump that had risen to 
his throat, and started for the house. 

“Mrs. Staples,” he said, bravely, as he en¬ 
tered the kitchen door, “I spilled the milk. I 
didn’t mean to, but-” 

“Spilled the milk!” repeated Mrs. Staples, 
interrupting him, angrily. “Well, and what did 
you want to do that for?” 

“I’m sorry I was so awkward. I got very 
cold while doing the chores, and somehow I 
couldn’t get my hands warm even when milk¬ 
ing.” 

“Cold was ye, ye young imp!” exclaimed 
Farmer Staples, coming into the kitchen from 



12 SIJ? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

the adjoining room, where he had overheard the 
conversation. “Cold was ye? Then I’ll warm 
ye up in sech a manner that there’ll be no more 
milk spillin’ round here.” 

Reaching up to the brackets fastened to the 
hewed logs that stretched across the low kitchen 
ceiling, he took down a heavy riding-whip, and 
the poor shivering boy was given a more cruel 
punishment than he had ever before been called 
upon to endure. He bore it bravely, and so 
quietly that Farmer Staples thought he must 
have prepared himself for it, and felt of his 
clothing to see if there might not be strips of 
bark concealed there. It was a way he had of 
making a punishment lighter, when a boy, and 
so it was natural that he should accuse Paul of 
the same thing; but only the thin shoulders 
were to be felt beneath the insufficient clothing. 

He chanced to look into Paul’s face. It was 
deathly white, and so drawn with suffering, both 
mental and physical, that he became a little wor¬ 
ried. Perhaps, he thought, he had gone too far. 

“Ever goin’ ter spill milk agin?’’ he asked 
gruffiy. 

“I don’t know, sir,’’ replied Paul, in a low 
voice. “I’ll try not to.’’ 

“Well, go off upstairs an’ git into bed. You 
won’t have any supper. Your share’s freezing 
out there in the barn yard.’’ 

Paul turned, without a word, and left the 


S/R JEFFERSON NOBOD 2 ' 13 

room. He did not want any supper. His heart 
was so heavy that he could not have eaten the 
best meal that was ever prepared. 

Farmer Staples and his wife would have been 
greatly surprised had any one accused them of 
cruelty to the children. They did not mean to 
be harsh, or would not have meant it, had the 
matter ever been presented to them. 

They had both been brought up in a poor- 
house. Neither remembered their parents, or 
ever cared to know of them. They had never 
known any home life, except that of their own 
making. They had not the least idea how much 
they had missed in having no one to love or 
care for them. When they decided to marry, it 
was simply because they believed they would do 
better financially by working together. They 
had never been blessed with a child of their own. 
Had they been, they must have been tenderer 
toward other children. 

They believed that children must be made to 
mind—that if they themselves did not “git the 
upper hands” the children would, and there was 
no knowing what unpleasant consequences might 
ensue in such a case. 


CHAPTER II 


Paul went to his room as commanded, and 
hastily undressing crept between the icy sheets. 
For a long time he lay so quietly that one would 
hardly have believed him to be awake, unless 
his wide-open, burning eyes, had been seen 
staring straight at the ugly rafters overhead. 
Although he shivered with cold, his heart burned 
within him and his brain seemed on fire. Sud¬ 
denly he sat up, his fists clenched, his breath 
coming in gasps. 

‘T will not endure it,” he whispered, through 
his set teeth. ‘‘I will leave to-night. I can do 
almost as much work as a man, and it will be 
queer if I can’t take care of myself away from 
here. If I can’t—well, death is no worse than 
this.” 

There was a sound as of some one stealing up 
the rickety staircase, and Paul hastily lay down 
and drew the bed clothing close under his chin. 
The door was pushed open, slowly and cau¬ 
tiously, and soon Minnie stood beside him. He 
had expected her. It was customary for Mr. 
Staples to send the children supperless to bed 


14 


S/H yEF'jT'EJ^SOJV NOBOD r 15 

as a punishment, and they had formed the habit 
of securing a little food which was carried to the 
banished one when the farmer and his wife were 
asleep. 

“I thought they would never get to bed,” 
whispered Minnie. ‘‘My! how dark it is here. 
Where’s your hand? I’ve only got one slice of 
bread, but it’s good and thick, and there’s but¬ 
ter on it, and here’s a piece of the cold meat. 
Poor Paul, how hungry you must be, after your 
hard day’s work. ” 

The tone of sympathy brought a lump into 
Paul’s throat, and he was nearer to crying than 
he had been at any time since he had spilled the 
milk; but not for the world would he have al¬ 
lowed a tear to escape from beneath his eyelids. 
He had nothing but contempt for a boy of his 
age, fourteen years, who would be found crying. 

“I am hungry, Minnie,” he said; “that’s a 
fact. I didn’t know it, though, until I heard 
you coming.” He had made a heroic effort to 
keep his voice from trembling, and was so grati¬ 
fied with his success that he felt more like him¬ 
self than he had since coming to his room. 

“Didn’t know it,” echoed Minnie. “Well, I 
always know I’m hungry when I am waiting for 
you to bring me something.” 

“Guess I was too mad to think about it,” 
replied Paul between bites. “Minnie, it won’t 
happen again; just let me tell you that.” 


16 S/jR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“I wish we could know it wouldn’t,” returned 
Minnie, sadly; “but one never can tell what 
they’ll do.” 

‘‘That’s why I’m not going to stay-” 

“Not going to stay! What do you mean, 
Paul?” 

‘‘I mean what I say, Minnie. I’m going to¬ 
night.” 

‘‘Oh, Paul! dear brother Paul! and to-morrow 
is Thanksgiving day.” 

‘‘What difference does that make?” asked 
Paul, sarcastically. ‘‘Have you seen any won¬ 
derful preparations for Thanksgiving?” 

‘‘Oh, they’ll do nothing, of course,” replied 
Minnie; ‘‘but they didn’t last year, yet we had 
a good time together.” 

“We’re older now, Minnie. I don’t think 
we’d have much fun playing at Thanksgiving. 
Besides, I won’t stand such treatment any 
longer. I’ll put myself out of his reach for 
good. What happened to me to-night shall 
never, never happen again.” 

“But it will happen to me, Paul, and if you 
are not here to help me bear it-” 

Minnie buried her face in the bedding, and 
sobbed silently. 

“Don’t, Min!” Paul reached out and 
stroked her head tenderly. “Don’t! I can’t 
bear it. What would you have me do?” 

“Don’t run away and leave me just yet,” 




S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODY 17 

“It is hard to think of leaving you, Minnie; 
but if I could get where I could earn some 
money I would send for you-“ 

“Maybe I’d be dead, then. You know it 
isn’t easy living here, even when we have each 
other. I don’t believe I could live very long 
without you, Paul; for you know I can’t stand 
things as you do. ’’ 

“I know, Minnie. I’d have gone long ago 
if it hadn’t been for that. If you were stronger, 
I’d take you with me-’’ 

“But there’s the contract, Paul. Aunt Cas- 
sie says we are bound in honor to stay until you 
are twenty-one years old. She says that it costs 
more to keep us now than we can possibly earn, 
and so Mr. Staples has a right to our time when 
we can be of real use.’’ 

“I don’t care a cent about that contract, 
Min-’’ 

“Oh, Paul, yes you do! It’s like a promise, 
you know, and think how papa and mamma 
would feel if they could hear you say you did not 
care about your promise.’’ 

“I didn’t make it,’’ replied Paul, defiantly. 

“We allowed Aunt Cassie to make it for us, 
so it is just the same. We talked it over with 
her, and agreed that it was the best thing to 
do.’’ 

“But you know we expected Uncle John to 
come any day. I never in the world would 





18 S/J? JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

have consented if I had known he was not com¬ 
ing.” 

‘‘But we did consent. We mustn’t forget 
that, Paul. I don’t see how we could leave, in 
honor, unless he should come. Perhaps he’ll 
come to-morrow.” 

“No danger of that. I’ve given that up long 
ago.” 

“I read just a little way ahead in ‘Lady of the 
Lake’ to-day, Paul,’’ said Minnie, quite irrele¬ 
vantly, “and, oh, it is just splendid.’’ 

“What right had you to do that?’’ demanded 
Paul. 

“Only a page or two, Paul, and we’ll begin 
where we left off, because I want to read it over 
again. I have two candle ends hid in my bed, 
so we can have a real good read the first night 
it is warm enough.’’ 

“When we finish this book, let’s let up on 
poetry for a little while,’’ said Paul, who for the 
moment had quite forgotten that he meant to 
run away. “Let’s begin ‘The Pathfinder.’ 
I’ve read two chapters in it, and it’s tip-top!’’ 

“Oh, ho! I thought we were always to read 
together,’’ interrupted Minnie slyly. 

“We are, of course! I just wanted to see if 
it would be nice for us to begin on next.” 

“Paul, I heard Mr. Staples say that he was 
going to drive to Plattville to-morrow to look at 
a horse he thinks of buying, and he said Mrs. 


S/J^ JEFFERSON NOBODY 19 

Staples could go, too. They would have to be 
gone at least four hours. We could have quite a 
Thanksgiving in that time.” 

“But, Minnie,” began Paul, suddenly recol¬ 
lecting his plans, “you know I shall-” 

“No, Paul, I don’t know any such thing. I 
can’t bear it. Please don’t talk of it any 
more. ” 

Minnie was crying again, and Paul’s heart 
was touched. 

“Minnie,” he said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll 
do If you’ll agree to let me go willingly the 
very next time he dares to thrash me, I’ll agree 
not to go to-night.” 

“And you’ll promise to do your very best to 
please him?” 

“My very best.” 

“Then it’s a bargain. It is shameful the 
way he uses you, I know; but perhaps it will be 
better after this, and maybe, you dear old 
brother, maybe Uncle John will come.” 

In her delight at having secured Paul’s 
promise not to run away, Minnie had risen from 
her knees, and, finding his face, was showering 
it with kisses. 

“You little goose!” exclaimed Paul, half¬ 
laughing, half-protesting. “Don’t be so silly. 
Better run off to bed now. You’ve been shiver¬ 
ing this last half hour until you fairly made the 
windows rattle. ” 



20 5 /i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

Minnie left the room feeling quite elated over 
her victory, and even Paul was much happier 
than he had been when she entered it. 

“It would be rather cowardly to go off and 
leave poor little Min to bear it alone,” he said, 
“and I’ll try my level best to have things go 
smoothly. ’ ’ 

The next morning life went on as usual in the 
farmhouse. Minnie helped with the work in¬ 
doors, and after doing the chores Paul went to 
husking corn. There was an early dinner of 
pork, potatoes, bread and gravy; then Mr. and 
Mrs. Staples started off to see the horse they 
thought of purchasing, and Paul and Minnie 
were left alone. They had been told that they 
need do no more work until time to get at the 
chores. 

“Now, for our Thanksgiving!” exclaimed 
Paul. “I am so thankful to think we are to 
have this whole blessed afternoon to ourselves 
that I feel as if I must do something desperate!” 

“Well, I am with you; but what shall it be?” 

“I haven’t the least idea.” 

“Nor I. Just think how it would be to have 
a father and mother to plan such things!” 

“It would be a waste of time.” 

“What would?” 

“To think of what cannot possibly be. We 
must plan for ourselves. Let’s begin our holi¬ 
day by dusting papa’s books.” 


S/Ji yEFFEHSOJV NOBODT 21 

“All right, Paul; that is one more thing we 
have to be thankful for. Suppose Mrs. Staples 
had burned those books, as she threatened to?” 

“If she had, I’d have set fire to the house,” 
replied Paul, fiercely. 

“Oh, Paul, don’t say such dreadful things. 
You would have done nothing of the sort.” 

“I’m not so sure of it. Papa’s books are 
like part of himself.” 

“What a comfort they have been to us, Paul. 
Oh, I have an idea! Let’s act out ‘Lady of 
the Lake,’ as far as we have read it.” 

Paul agreed, with satisfactory enthusiasm, 
and the children raced up the rickety stairway, 
quite as happy for the moment, perhaps happier, 
than many children whose parents had done 
everything in their power to make that Thanks¬ 
giving day one to be remembered with pleasure. 

Paul was first to reach the precious book of 
poems. That did not quite suit Minnie, who 
had wanted to select the first scene herself, and 
her quick mind immediately planned a change of 
program. 

“The idea, Paul,” she exclaimed, “of our 
having the entertainment before the great 
Thanksgiving dinner!” 

“It is necessary in this case,” he replied, 
seriously, “because, being aristocracy, we have 
dinner at six, and after dinner our guests begin 
to assemble for the great ball. This little en- 


22 SIB yEFF'EJ^SON' NOBODY 

tertainment is arranged to help the house party 
pass the time between luncheon and dinner." 

“But, Paul-" 

“But, Miss Minnie, your nice little scheme 
didn’t work, did it?" interrupted Paul, with 
laughing eyes. 

“You don’t know that I had a scheme." 

“Don’t I, though! How much would you 
give to get hold of this book and choose the first 
scene?" 

“Well, I ought to be allowed that privilege, 
anyhow. I’m the lady." 

“Oh! Well, taking that into consideration, 
my dear lady," bowing very low before her, 
“will you honor me by accepting this book from 
the hand of your unworthy knight?" 

“Oh, Paul, that was splendid! It was as good 
as the best story we ever read! What a fine 
actor you would make!" 

“Think so? Well, let’s plan the campaign." 

“Of course," began Minnie in her most busi¬ 
ness-like tones, “we must begin with the scene 
on the lake. I’m Ellen-" 

“ ‘A chieftain’s daughter seemed the maid,’ " 
quoted Paul. “Where’s your boat, Ellen?" 

“We’ll have to make this old couch do. You 
must be concealed behind the stovepipe. That 
shall be your hazel shade. Now, when I call 
‘Father,’ you're not to answer, remember." 




sm JEFFERSON NOBODT 23 

“Of course not. Do you suppose I’ve for¬ 
gotten it all? Now, I’ll blow my horn.’’ 

“Father!” called Minnie, in reply, after hav¬ 
ing seated herself on the old home-made couch 
to look as much as possible as if she were in a 
boat. Then, after a moment’s pause, she called 
in quite faltering tones, “Malcolm, was thine the 
blast?” 

Paul came from behind the stove and made a 
bow. “ ‘A stranger I,’ ” he said proudly, then 
went on to tell in his own words about the hunt 
through Cambusmore, and how he chanced to 
be there, ending abruptly with, “Golly, Min, 
but it’s tame stuff the way I say it.” 

“Never mind, and don’t call me Min. I’m 
Ellen, now. Listen: 

“ ‘Highland hills are open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill; 

Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home; 

Before the heath had lost the dew, 

This morn a couch was pulled for you.’ ” 

She went on bravely to the close of her part 
of the quotation, then Paul took up the verse. 
It went off very smoothly, for the children knew 
most of the long poem by heart. 

Minnie came out to welcome the guest, taking 
the part of Ellen’s mother, by tying an apron 
behind her to form a train. Hers was the more 


24 


S/R JEFFERSON NOBODY 


difficult part of the afternoon performance, for 
she had to change into every character who con¬ 
versed with James Fitz-James, even to that of 
Roderick Dhu, in which part she appeared in 
Farmer Staples’ old work-jacket. 

They could go no farther than the scene be¬ 
tween Fitz-James and Roderick Dhu, where the 
latter so defiantly makes himself known, for be¬ 
yond that they were not familiar enough with 
the words to find their play interesting. 

“Now we’ll have the great Thanksgiving 
feast,’’ announced Minnie. 

“ ‘For what we are about to receive. Brother 
Ned, the Lord make us duly thankful. Brother 
Charles,’ ’’ quoted Paul from his favorite among 
Dickens’ novels. 

“I’m so glad Mrs. Staples concluded to boil 
that ham,’’ continued Minnie, “for it really 
won’t be hard pretending it’s a turkey. Help 
set the table, Paul. ’’ 

“I suppose we’ll have to use this sorghum 
molasses for cranberry sauce, won’t we?’’ asked 
Paul, placing the pitcher on the table. 

“Yes; and this cold Johnnycake will be the 
plum pudding. We have white bread, too. Just 
think of that!’’ 

“Two kinds of bread for one meal! What 
could the old lady have been thinking of!’’ 

“Don’t call her that, Paul; it isn’t respect¬ 
ful.’’ 


sm yEFFEi?soJV nobody 


25 


“It is as much so as I feel.” 

“Well, then, it isn’t gentlemanly, and papa 
said-’’ 

“I know, Min. I won’t do it again.’’ 

The children sat down to a meal of cold 
boiled ham, w'armed-over potatoes, Johnnycake, 
white bread and sorghum molasses; but the 
menu which Minnie had written out called for 
turkey, boiled ham, vegetables, cranberry sauce, 
white bread, brown bread and plum pudding. 

She read it aloud with a great deal of satis¬ 
faction. 

“Who could ask for a better Thanksgiving 
dinner?’’ she asked. 

“In these hard times,’’ added Paul. 

“Think, Paul, how many there are who would 
be very thankful to get just what we have. 
I’m not unhappy because there is no more, are 
you?“ 

“Not a bit of it!’’ replied Paul, stoutly. 
“What difference would it make in a hundred 
years anyhow? If only Mr. and Mrs. Staples 
would never come back, or we could go away by 
ourselves-’’ 

“Please, Paul, let’s not talk about that to¬ 
day. It doesn’t seem quite like Thanksgiving 
talk, and I don’t want my beautiful day 
spoiled. ’’ 




CHAPTER III 


Paul Hawthorne did not find it easy to forgive 
an injury, either real or fancied. He was very 
different from his sister Minnie in that respect. 
After having promised Minnie to remain with 
Farmer Staples as long as he was fairly treated, 
he did his best to please the irascible old man; 
but in his heart he disliked him more intensely 
every day. He performed the tasks set him in 
a mechanical way that was exasperating, and 
more especially because they were so well done 
that little fault could be found with them. Ex¬ 
cept when alone with Minnie he never spoke 
unless a question were asked that he could not 
avoid answering. Whatever he was told to do 
he set about promptly and silently, and Farmer 
Staples could have worked him to death without 
drawing a word of complaint from between his 
set lips. 

His dislike to his surroundings and to the old 
man in particular was very evident. It worried 
Minnie, for she could see that the farmer and his 
wife resented Paul’s manner quite as much as if 
they had been in no way responsible for it. She 
26 


S/H yBI^I^EBSON NO BOD r 


27 


feared that they would embrace the first oppor¬ 
tunity, were it ever so slight, to punish him for 
it, and her fears were by no means groundless. 

Nearly two weeks passed in this way. They 
seemed like four to Paul and Minnie. Then, 
one day Paul chanced to break the wood saw. 
The saw was old and he was not entirely to 
blame, although more careless than he should 
have been. It was the opportunity the old man 
had been wanting. The scene of two weeks be¬ 
fore was repeated, even to the visit from the sym¬ 
pathetic little sister after the old man and his 
wife had retired for the night. 

“Minnie,” whispered Paul, when he heard 
her tiptoeing into the room, “I shall not be of 
age for seven years yet. I simply can’t stand 
it.” 

Paul tried hard to control his voice, biting 
savagely into the sandwich Minnie had brought 
him, and for which he had no appetite. He 
wished to make a pretense of eating that the lit¬ 
tle sister, kneeling on the cold hard floor by his 
bedside might not know how near he was to 
crying. 

“Yes, Paul, I know,” was Minnie’s response, 
accompanied by a low, half-suppressed sob. 

“Don’t cry, Min; you’ll make me crazy, 
and I have enough to bear now. Do you think 
I could stand this seven years longer?” 

“No, brother Paul, but you wouldn’t have 


28 


S/H JEFFERSON NOBODT 


to. You’ll be larger than Mr. Staples long be¬ 
fore that, and he wouldn’t dare touch you. As 
for scolding—who cares for that! It’s nothing 
but words, and why should we think of such 
words one little minute when we have books and 
books full of beautiful ones—more than our 
minds can hold? Have you forgotten, Paul, 
that we were going to let papa’s books make us 
forget everything unpleasant?” 

“Minnie, I don’t believe girls care so much 
about being whipped as boys do. Then you are 
not as old as I am, and so it isn’t quite so 
insulting. Besides, I fancy you don’t catch it 
quite as hard. ” 

For answer, Minnie rolled up her thin sleeve 
and placed Paul’s hand on the upper part of her 
arm. “Feel that, Paul, and that,” she said; 
“and there are ever so many more across my 
shoulders. She was angrier than usual to-day 
and stronger.” 

“Poor little sister! How can you bear it so 
patiently?” 

“There is no use in being impatient, so far as 
I can see. We are here; we can’t get away, 
and we have promised to stay. I think the best 
way is to think about papa’s books whenever 
anything hard must be done. I know it makes 
it easier. To-day, just as soon as she took down 
her stick, I began to pretend that I was the wife 
of ‘John Halifax, Gentleman,’ and that I had 


S/J^ yEFI^EIiSOAT NOBOD r 


29 


just discovered that my poor little Muriel was 
blind. Then I felt very sorry, and when the 
tears would come I pretended they were all for 
Muriel. ” 

“Minnie, how much do such things really 
help? You don’t mean to have me believe that 
you don’t feel the switch at all!’’ 

“No,” very earnestly; “but such thoughts do 
really help a very great deal. I did not know 
quite how hard she had whipped me to-day until 
I saw the welts on my arm. That is a fact, 
Paul.” 

“And when you saw them didn’t you hate 
her?” 

“No; I can’t say I did. Of course, I didn’t 
like her very well; but I remembered that her 
tooth ached awfully, and then, you know, I was 
careless. I should have stirred the milk gravy 
every minute, and then it wouldn’t have 
burned. ” 

“If I could only get away from here long 
enough to earn a little money,” said Paul, “I’d 
see whether you’d stand this thing much longer 
or not. ” 

“Everybody who goes away from home does 
not find work,” said Minnie. “I know what 
you are thinking, Paul, and I agreed not to say 
anything if it happened again. I don’t mean to 
forget. ” 

“You can’t blame me, Minnie. I’d rather 


30 S/Ji yEF'FBBSO^r NOBODT 

go away and starve to death than stay here and 
be beaten.” 

‘‘If you go away from papa’s books how will 
you get an education?” 

‘‘There are books everywhere.” 

“But poor folks cannot always get them. 
You know papa said so. He said we were rich 
as long as we kept and enjoyed his treasures, 
and that to know their contents was an education 
in itself. Wouldn’t it be better to put up with 
this a little while longer, considering the 
books-” 

“Now, Minnie-” 

“I remember, Paul, dear. Are you quite de¬ 
cided?” 

“Yes, Minnie, I am.” The tone was abrupt 
but decided. “I can’t stand it any longer, and I 
won’t try. Run away now, and let me get 
ready. Come again in fifteen minutes.” 

Minnie turned without a word and went 
straight to her own room, where, by the flicker¬ 
ing light of a tallow candle. Aunt Cassie could 
be seen sitting on the edge of the bed. She had 
come there the day before for her regular yearly 
work of sewing, and had been obliged to witness 
Paul’s humiliating punishment. 

“Aunt Cassie,” she said, “it is as I feared. 
Paul is really going. Oh, how can I live without 
him! Oh, auntie! auntie! I feel as if my heart 
were breaking.” 




6’/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 31 

“You don’t feel anything of the sort, child,” 
said Aunt Cassie, trying to speak sternly. But 
as she spoke, she drew the sobbing child into the 
shelter of her arms in the most comforting way 
imaginable. “You are selfish,” she continued 
gravely. “You are thinking more of yourself 
than of Paul. I don’t blame the boy at all. It 
was shameful, shameful! and if I were in his 
place I’d do exactly as he proposes to do!” 

“But, Aunt Cassie, the contract-” 

“Never mind the contract. Old Staples 
hasn’t kept his part of it, and Paul can’t be held. ” 
“What part of it has he not kept?” 

“He said he would care for you as he would 
had you been his own. ” 

Minnie was silent a moment; then she said, 
seriously: “Do you know. Aunt Cassie, I don’t 
think he has broken even that part of his con¬ 
tract. I think he would have been no kinder to 
his own. He doesn’t know how. Isn’t it awful 
not to know how to love any one very dearly?” 

“I think,” said Aunt Cassie, who evidently 
did not care to continue the question, “I think 
it is time for us to go to Paul. ” 

“We must put up a lunch first,” said Minnie. 
“He’ll need it.” 

They found him ready to start. He had fin¬ 
ished eating the lunch Minnie brought him, and 
had put on all the clothes he had. 

“Here, Paul,” said Aunt Cassie, “is a bit of 



32 S/m JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

paper on which I have written your Uncle John’s 
address. Let me pin it inside your coat, where 
it will be safe. I think you’d better try to find 
him the first thing you do. Here is a five-dollar 
bill to help you along.” 

“Oh, Aunt Cassie, I don’t want to take that. 

You have worked so hard for it-” 

“Take it, Paul. I want you to have it. It is 
only lent. You will pay it back some day, I 
know. I wish I could let you have more, but I 
can’t; so you must be as careful as you can of 
this.” 

While Aunt Cassie was talking, Minnie slipped 
a little Bible into Paul’s pocket. It contained 
the dates of the birth of their father and mother 
and of themselves and the baby sister who had 
died. There was also a record of the marriage 
and death of the parents. The book was so 
precious to the children that it was always laid 
aside when they playfully divided the books that 
the father had left them. Even in fun they 
could not renounce to the other their share of 
their mother’s Bible. Now, Minnie said, as she 
placed it in Paul’s pocket: 

“You must take your share because it be¬ 
longs to you, and I’ll lend you my share so you 
will not forget me.” 

“As if I should do that!” replied Paul, re¬ 
proachfully. 

“Shall you write?” asked Aunt Cassie. 



S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


33 


“When I’m settled. Don’t worry, however, if 
you don’t get a letter very soon, for I hate writ¬ 
ing. I shall have to send Minnie’s letters to 
you, for the old man must not know where to 
look for me!’’ 

While the children whispered their last words 
of farewell Aunt Cassie was busy tying together 
the sheets from Paul’s bed. 

“All ready, Paul?” she asked. “You must 
go out the window, for you can never get down 
that creaking staircase without being heard.” 

When the rope thus made had served its pur¬ 
pose Aunt Cassie quickly drew it in through the 
open window. Minnie looked down sadly at the 
beloved figure dimly discernible by the faint star¬ 
light and waved a trembling little hand as a 
farewell. At the moment she felt as if she should 
never see her brother Paul again. 

Aunt Cassie untied the sheets, smoothed them 
out as best she could and then made Paul’s bed. 
When the room was in order she gently drew 
Minnie away from the window and into her own 
room. 

“Get into bed at once,” she said, briskly. 
“You are shaking like a leaf. And do try to 
forget yourself and think of Paul. He is well 
out of this and I thank the Lord! I got the 
poor lad into this trouble, but I have atoned by 
doing all that I could to get him out. I wish I 
could do as well by you.” 


34 


SIR JEFFRRSON NOBODT 


Minnie went to bed, but she could not sleep. 
Aunt Cassie knew she was crying, but decided 
that it would be best to let her cry and pretend 
to know nothing about it. Finally, however, 
she could endure it no longer, and turning over 
she took the almost broken-hearted child into 
her arms. 

“Minnie,” she said, “where have you driven 
the merry little spirit who usually whispers such 
pleasant thoughts into your ear? How can you 
grieve so when you know Paul has only gone to 
find your Uncle John? It can’t be many days 
before he will send Uncle John here to get you.” 

“Oh, Aunt Cassie, do you really think Paul 
will find Uncle John?” 

“Yes, I think he will. What I am not so 
sure of is how your Uncle John will act in the 
matter. ” 

“If Paul finds him he will come straight here. 
He will give us a home, I know, for papa said 
so. ” 

“If you are as sure of that as I am that Paul 
will find him,” replied Aunt Cassie, “there is 
nothing to worry about. Nothing whatever.” 

Thus comforted, Minnie was soon sleeping 
soundly. 

“Poor child!” whispered Aunt Cassie. “I 
believe her uncle is a miserable old skinflint, but 
perhaps when he sees that wretched looking 
nephew even his heart will be touched.” 



THE CIIILDREX WHISPERED THEIR LAST WORDS OF FAREWELL 


























































































SIR yEI^FEJiSOJV NO BOD r 


35 


The next morning Aunt Cassie cautioned 
Minnie against betraying any knowledge of 
Paul’s absence. “Let them discover it for 
themselves,” she said, “and pretend that you 
know nothing about it,” 

“Why should I do that?” asked Minnie. 

“They will treat you better. There is no 
knowing what they might do if they thought you 
helped him off. ” 

“But, Aunt Cassie, I can’t lie about it, can 
1 ?”“ 

“Try to evade their questions, dear. I wish 
I did not think it necessary to ask you to do 
this; but it really seems best under the circum¬ 
stances. You will have a hard enough life of it 
the best you can do.” 


CHAPTER IV 


There was anger and consternation in the 
Staples farmhouse the next morning, when it 
was discovered that Paul was missing. 

Mr. Staples, standing at the foot of the stairs, 
had called him several times, and finally, in no 
gentle tones, had advised him to “git out o’thar 
to onct or he’d be sorry.’’ No response coming 
to that threat,'he had slowly ascended the creak¬ 
ing stairs and wrathfully pushed Paul’s door 
open. 

“You lazy-’’ Then he stopped, staring 

about him in dismay. It took some minutes for 
him to assure himself that Paul had not slept in 
his bed that night, and that he was not concealed 
anywhere in the miserable little room. When 
once that fact entered his mind he was beside 
himself with anger. Stepping across the little 
hall at the head of the stairs that divided the two 
rooms, he unceremoniously pushed open Min¬ 
nie’s door. Aunt Cassie stirred as if suddenly 
aroused from sleep, at the same time placing a 
reassuring hand on the little form beside her. 

“Ye hain't seen anythin’ o’ thet there Paul, I 
36 



SII? NOBODT 37 

reckon?” half demanded, half questioned the old 
man. 

“Paul?” repeated Aunt Cassie, in a tone of 
inquiry. 

“Yes, Paul,” snarled the old man. “Where 
is he? I want him. ” 

“Well, I haven’t got him, and I don’t know 
where he is. Isn’t he in his room?” 

Farmer Staples simply slammed the door by 
way of reply, and marched heavily downstairs, 
muttering threats and imprecations as he went. 
While he had been questioning Aunt Cassie, 
Mrs. Staples had made an examination of the 
room, discovering that the cheap suit bought for 
Paul’s Sunday wear was also missing. She 
knew at once that Paul had run away. 

“Wa’al, ” said Mr. Staples, when she told 
him, “he didn’t have no money, an’ I reckon he 
can’t run very far on an empty stomach. I’ll 
have him back here afore night, an’ then I’ll 
larn him sich a lesson as he won’t fergit as long 
as he lives. ” 

Farmer Staples searched diligently for Paul 
all that day, but in vain. He had discovered 
Paul’s footprints beneath his window, and was 
hoping the boy had sprained his ankle and would 
be found in hiding not far away. 

It was well for Minnie that Aunt Cassie was 
sewing there that week. She was thus saved the 
necessity of telling a falsehood, for Aunt Cassie 


38 


S/Jt yEFFEJiSOiV NOBODT 


replied to every question that was asked, and so 
naturally that the farmer and his wife did not 
suspect that she was endeavoring to shield the 
silent little girl. They never thought Aunt Cas- 
sie might have helped Paul away. Why should 
she, when she had been the one to persuade 
them to take him, and there was no better place 
for him now than there had been then? Besides, 
she seemed to sympathize with them so heartily. 

“We’ve been too easy on them children,” 
Mrs. Staples said to her one day. “They got 
too upstartish, an’ there was no doin’ nothin’ 
with them.” 

“You mean Paul, don’t you?” asked Aunt 
Cassie, quietly. 

“One’s ’bout as bad’s t’other.” 

“But Minnie didn’t run away.” 

“Just ’cause she couldn’t.” 

“I don’t believe she’d do it, anyhow. She 
told me once that she really believed you and 
Mr. Staples treated her as you would had she 
been your own child.” 

Mrs. Staples stared in astonishment, and 
some minutes passed before she spoke. Then 
she said: “I don’t b’lieve a word of it.” 

“Minnie,” called Aunt Cassie to the little 
girl who was at work in the adjoining room. 
“Oh, Minnie, come here a minute, won’t you?” 

Minnie did as requested, appearing in the 
doorway with a basin, which she was wiping. 


S/Ii: JEFFERSON NO BOOT 39 

“Minnie, did you or did you not tell me that 
you believed Mr. and Mrs. Staples treated you 
as they would a child of their own?” 

“I said it, Aunt Cassie,” replied Minnie, 
gravely; “but why did you repeat it? And 
why-” 

“Go back to your work,” commanded Mrs. 
Staples, “and after this attend to your own busi¬ 
ness, or you’ll wish you had. I want you to un¬ 
derstand that I hain’t goin’ to be talked over 
by you or anybody else.” 

Minnie withdrew without a word; but she 
wondered why Aunt Cassie had called her into 
so unpleasant a scene. The conversation was 
not renewed between Aunt Cassie and Mrs. 
Staples, both of whom sewed vigorously and 
silently the remainder of the afternoon. 

“I believe the shot went home, anyhow,” 
thought Aunt Cassie, who was watching her 
companion from a corner of her eye. “She 
can’t be quite so hard on Minnie when she 
knows how lovable and forgiving the child is.” 

For three days after her week was ended Aunt 
Cassie pretended that she was too ill to go to 
the next place where she was to sew. 

“I can do enough to pay my board,” she 
said, “but not enough to charge for,” and Mrs. 
Staples was glad to have her stay on those 
terms, for she knew Aunt Cassie always did a 
great deal of work for her board. 



40 


^■/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 


“You shouldn’t do it, Aunt Cassie,’’ said 
Minnie, when they were alone. “I know well 
enough it is just to stay with me a little longer, 
for there are pleasanter places where you can 
work for your board.’’ 

“Well, suppose I’d rather stay with you, lit¬ 
tle Miss Eagle-eye?’’ 

“You are very good to me, you darling Aunt 
Cassie. But I’ve got to stay here without you 
some time, and I might as well begin now as 
later.’’ 

The next day Aunt Cassie went away, and 
Minnie felt more alone than she ever had before. 
While she was washing the supper dishes Mrs. 
Staples said: 

“If you git them carpet rags all sewed before 
Christmas, Minnie, you kin go to school the rest 
of the term.’’ 

“Oh!’’ exclaimed Minnie, in a pleased tone 
of voice, “how nice that will be! I will try very 
hard, Mrs. Staples.’’ 

She hesitated a moment, then crossing the 
room, laid one hand timidly on Mrs. Staples’ 
knee. 

“Mrs. Staples,’’ she said, “it was very nice 
of you to tell me that, and I’ll try to be a good 
girl.’’ 

“Are them dishes washed?’’ asked Mrs. 
Staples. Minnie noticed that her voice was less 
harsh than usual, and her heart was quite light 


S/J^ JEFFERSON NOBODY 41 

as she tripped back to her work, pleasantly re¬ 
plying: “Not quite, but I’ll hurry.” 

Minnie was for the moment almost happy. 
It was unlike Mrs. Staples to hold out any in¬ 
ducement to her to work. Heretofore she had 
simply given her to understand that she must 
work without inducement. And to promise to 
let her go to school the rest of the term! Why, 
that would be ten weeks! How much she could 
learn in that time! Minnie’s face was very 
pleasant to look upon as she sat sewing carpet 
rags that evening, for it reflected some very 
pretty thoughts of a future meeting with Paul in 
Uncle John’s home, and the great surprise she 
would give him when she should tell him that she 
had gone quite through the arithmetic. That 
was her most difficult study, and Paul was often 
vexed with her because she could not progress 
faster. Now she meant to give her whole mind 
to it, so as not to trouble him as much as she 
had been in the habit of doing. 

When Christmas morning arrived, Minnie had 
the satisfaction of knowing that all the carpet 
rags were nicely sewed and wound in round balls 
that any one might envy. She was almost as 
happy over the successful accomplishment of her 
task as some little girls were that morning while 
examining a great pile of Christmas gifts. But 
then Minnie was richer than most little girls in 
that she had a more contented spirit. 


42 S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“I am so glad Christmas comes on Sunday 
this year,” she ventured to say to Mrs. Staples 
while helping to get breakfast. 

“I don’t see what difference it makes,” re¬ 
plied Mrs. Staples. 

“Why, don’t you see, if it had come on Fri¬ 
day or Saturday I should have so much longer to 
wait for Monday, and on Monday, you know, 
I’m to begin going to school.” 

Minnie said this wistfully. Mrs. Staples had 
not referred to her promise of a fortnight ago, 
and she was almost afraid she would not be al¬ 
lowed to go to school after all. 

“I thought most young ’uns hated school,” 
replied Mrs. Staples. 

“I don’t see how they can. I am so glad to 
go. I’ll get up just as early as I can every 
morning, so as to get all the morning work done 
before nine o’clock.” 

• “You will have the breakfast dishes to wash 
and the kitchen to'put to rights; that is all,” 
responded Mrs. Staples, almost genially. “When 
you come in at noon, you will make the beds, 
and at night you will help get supper and wash 
the dishes. I’ll do the rest of the work myself 
while you’re in school.” 

Most girls would have thought that consider¬ 
able work had been laid out for them had they 
been treated to such a program; but it was much 
less than Minnie had been accustomed to doing. 


S/Ji yEF'J^EJ^SON NOBOD r 


43 


But that was not what brought the warm color 
to her cheeks and the tears to her eyes. Her 
tender little heart was touched by this unusual 
exhibition of kindness, and, without stopping for 
second thought she rushed to Mrs. Staples’ side 
and throwing both arms around her neck kissed 
her as lovingly as if she had been Aunt Cassie. 

It was the first kiss Mrs. Staples had ever re¬ 
ceived, and she did not know how to act. She 
was pleased, but greatly embarrassed, and she 
pushed Minnie away with such force that she 
fell to the floor, tripping on a foot-stool that 
happened to be behind her. 

“Can’t you stand?’’ asked Mrs. Staples, petu¬ 
lantly. Then she went upstairs, and Minnie was 
left alone. 

“I don’t care,’’ she said, ruefully, “I’m sure 
she isn’t half so bad as she pretends. She’s 
been quite nice to me lately, and I believe she’d 
love me if she only knew how. I wish she’d let me 
love her a little. Now Paul is gone I haven’t 
any one, and it’s so lonesome living this way.’’ 

Just then Minnie was startled by a sound of 
falling, and upon rushing into the hall found 
Mrs. Staples lying in a heap at the foot of the 
rickety staircase. She had attempted to come 
down with an armful of bedding, had tripped on 
a part of it that was hanging lower than she 
thought, and had fallen, spraining her ankle 
quite seriously. 


44 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 


“Can I help you up?” asked Minnie. “Here, 
take my hand; I’m very strong.” 

It was evident, after the first attempt, that 
Mrs. Staples could not move without the assist¬ 
ance of stronger arms than Minnie’s. Mr. 
Staples was called. He lifted her into a chair, 
then, after examining the ankle, which was very 
painful and swelling rapidly, started off to the 
nearest village in search of a doctor. 

Minnie was a born nurse, and immediately 
remembered having heard that a mixture of 
hops and wormwood steeped 'in vinegar and ap¬ 
plied hot was a good remedy for sprains. She 
went to work at once to apply it, without 
troubling the suffering woman by asking what 
she should do. Until the doctor arrived, she 
worked over her patient steadily, and was glad 
to hear him say upon his arrival that she had 
done as well as he could have done himself. 

“It will be several weeks,” he said, “before 
your patient can be about the house again, and I 
think, little woman, you will have enough nurs¬ 
ing in that time. ” 

“I’ll do my best, sir,” said Minnie, bravely. 

When he was gone Mrs. Staples called her. 

“You’re a deceitful hussy,” she hissed. 
“You know, as well as I do, that you hate me, 
’cause now you can’t go to school.” 

“Oh, Mrs. Staples, please don’t think that! 
I’m so very, very sorry for you that I’m not 


SIJ^ yEFF'BIiSOJSr NOBODT 


45 


thinking of the school at all. I’m pretending 
that you’re my truly mamma, and that you like 
to have your little daughter care for you.” 

“I do like it, for that matter,” muttered Mrs. 
Staples, quite bashfully. Minnie observed her 
confusion, and was quick to understand it and 
take advantage of it. 

“Oh, goody!” she exclaimed; “then we’ll just 
go on with the play. And you must let me kiss 
you once in a while, mustn’t you?” 

“I s’pose so!” 

“Not now, of course, while you’re suffering. 
I’m going to hurry and get the work done, and 
then I’ll rub your head to stop the aching. 
Papa used to like that. And, oh, Mrs. Staples! 
I must wish you a merry Christmas before the 
day is done and it is too late!” 

This was so unexpected that for a moment 
Mrs. Staples held her breath in surprise; then 
she broke into a hearty fit of laughter. 

“You’re a queer piece!” she said. “The 
idee o’ wishin’ any one a merry Christmas when 
she’s just got laid up with a sprained ankle!” 

“But you might have been killed, and how 
much worse that would have been!” 

“Worse for you?” asked Mrs. Staples, curi¬ 
ously. 

“Yes,” replied Minnie, stoutly; “really and 
truly worse, for then I should have had no home 
at all. It has been a very nice Christmas to 


46 


STR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


me, Mrs. Staples, in spite of everything, for you 
have made me feel that you are going to let me 
love you. ” 

“You are a queer one,” replied Mrs. Staples, 
wonderingly. 

It had been a nice Christmas for Minnie for 
another reason, one that she did not mention. 
She had a letter in her pocket from her brother 
Paul. Aunt Cassie had sent it that very morn¬ 
ing by a man whom she knew she could trust to 
deliver it only to Minnie. 


CHAPTER V 


A train was just pulling out when, cold and 
tired, Paul reached the little station. Without 
a thought of possible danger he threw his little 
bundle on the steps and scrambled after it. A 
moment later he was occupying one of the com¬ 
fortable seats in the warm car, so thankful for 
the opportunity to rest that for the time every¬ 
thing else was forgotten. He had walked ten 
miles since telling Minnie good-bye. Ten miles 
on a cold winter’s night, with neither overcoat 
nor flannels, and wearing boots that were so 
badly worn as to be of slight protection. 

When he had become well warmed and par¬ 
tially rested, he turned his attention to the lunch 
that Minnie had provided. 

“I think this’ll be enough for twice,” she 
had told him, as she tucked it into his bundle; 
but after his long walk he found it hardly enough 
for once. He felt as if he ought to save a part 
of it for his breakfast, but the temptation to eat 
it all at once was too strong, and soon the last 
mouthful had disappeared. 

It was four o’clock in the morning when Paul 
47 


48 


S/J! ySFFERSON NOBODT 


found himself in the city where he hoped to find 
his Uncle John. He had just one dollar in his 
pocket. 

“I can afford a good warm breakfast,” he 
said, “for I’ll surely find Uncle John before 
noon. ” 

Long months of self-denial had made him 
careful, however, and he did not allow himself to 
spend more than a quarter of a dollar for his 
breakfast. When he left the restaurant he felt 
almost as if he owned a large part of the city. 

“Hello, greenhorn,” called a boy who was 
standing near the door. 

Paul made no reply. He hardly thought that 
the boy meant him. 

“Why don't yeh answer, pumpkin-husker? 
Can’t yeh talk? Say, what’s the price of hay 
down yer way?” 

Paul was no longer in doubt as to whom the 
boy was addressing. He turned toward the 
speaker, an ungainly lad of about his own age, 
and certainly not more prepossessing in appear¬ 
ance. 

“Why don’t yer talk?” asked the boy, shak¬ 
ing his fist threateningly under Paul’s nose. 
“Hank Shaw ain’t the feller teh be snubbed by 
a country bumpkin, let me tell yeh that!” 

“Am I a country bumpkin?” asked Paul, 
good-naturedly. 

“That’s what,” replied the boy, with em- 


S/J^ yEFFEJiSOAT NOBOD 2 ' 49 

phasis. The words would have puzzled Paul, 
but the tone made their meaning quite clear. 

“How did you know?” 

“My eye! Could a feller help knowin’? I 
guess not. Why, yer entire make-up is the 
deadest give away-” 

Paul struck out with his right fist, and the 
boy sprawled on the ground before he could 
finish his sentence. It would be hard to say 
which was more surprised—Paul or his victim. 
Paul had meant to keep good-natured. He 
really wanted to know how the city boy had so 
quickly recognized him as having come from the 
country, but when the lad answered, Paul felt 
insulted, and struck him before he realized what 
he was doing. 

The boy sprang to his feet, and came angrily 
toward Paul. 

“You blamed greenhorn,” he said, “I’ll half 
kill you for that. ” 

“I’ll help,” called another rowdy, running up. 

“And I,” “and I,” said two or three others. 
“Let’s send pumpkin-husker back where he be¬ 
longs.” 

“Naw yeh don’t, boys,” exclaimed another 
lad, stepping up beside Paul. “Jest yeh let him 
be. I’ll tend teh him. Look out, here!” as 
one of the rowdies came a little too close to 
please him. “Don’t yeh git close enough to 
spile these here satin trousers o’ mine!” 



50 SIJH JEFFERSON NOBODT 

It was said in a drawling tone that sounded as 
good-natured as it did lazy, and the shrewd gray 
eyes twinkled merrily; but there was something 
about the boy that gave his companions to under¬ 
stand that in spite of his nonsensical manner he 
was in earnest and not to be trifled with. They 
went their different ways, leaving Paul alone 
with his new friend. 

“I guess you did me a good turn,” said Paul, 
pleasantly. 

“I guess I did,” replied the boy. “Yeh don’t 
know them chaps as well’s I do. They’re sp’il- 
in’ for a fight. What’s yer name?” 

“Paul Hawthorne. And yours?” 

“I, me deah sir, I am Sir Jefferson Nobody, 
’ristercratic, yet humble child o’ Fortune.” 


CHAPTER VI 


“Sir Jefferson Nobody, 'ristercratic, yet hum¬ 
ble child of Fortune,” repeated Paul, a suspicion 
of a smile hovering around his mouth. This 
astonishing introduction was made so seriously 
that he did not dare laugh outright, although he 
felt like it. 

“Yep,” replied the boy, quietly, “that’s me. 
What is it yeh want teh say? Out with it. I’m 
a-listenin’. ” 

What Paul thought of saying was that, for a 
child of Fortune, his new acquaintance was not 
dressed any too well, but remembering that he 
himself had not borne criticisms very gracefully, 
he simply said: 

‘Tt doesn’t much matter what was in my 
mind. It didn’t amount to anything, any¬ 
how.” 

“Yeh was goin’ teh pass yer ’pinion on my 
regalia,” said the lad in his curiously quiet tone. 
“Pass it. ” 

“I don’t bear the passing of opinions any 
too well myself, and what right have I to make 
comments?” replied Paul, laughing. “I don’t 

51 


52 


S/J^ ^EFFEHSON NOBODT 


want you to hit out with your right and floor me 
as I floored that other chap.” 

“Think I could do it?” 

Paul looked at him speculatively, for fully a 
minute, then replied, honestly: “Yes, I think 
you could. If I were very angry, however, 
you’d have a hard time of it.” 

“Yeh’re stronger when yeh’re mad?” 

“Yes, always. I didn’t know I was going to 
knock that chap down.” 

“Yeh done it pretty slick. What was yeh 
mad about?” 

“Oh, the way he criticised me.” 

“Did yeh think he lied ’bout yeh?” 

“I didn’t stop to think anything about that 
part of it. His tone was insulting.” 

“Yep, I ’spect it was; but yeh’ll hear a good 
deal like it, ’nless yeh leave the city on the next 
train, for the newsy telled the truth ’bout yeh. 
Ye’re country, country, country, from yer head 
to yer heels; but I like yeh fer it. How long 
be yeh goin’ teh stay here?” 

“All the rest of my life, I hope. And that 
reminds me; I’m looking for my uncle, Mr. John 
Hawthorne. Plave you ever heard his name?” 

“Never. P’r’ps he don’t belong to my set!” 

“I should hope not,” was Paul’s involuntary 
rejoinder. He was sorry the moment the words 
left his lips, and he felt that the nervous little 


6 '//? JEFFERSOJSr NOBODT 53 

laugh he forced to follow them did not help mat¬ 
ters much. 

“Don’t worry,” said his new acquaintance, 
calmly. “I don’t keer. Fact is, I like yeh teh 
say jest what yeh think. It gives me a chance 
teh set yeh right when yeh makes mistakes. 
Where does Mr. John Hawthorne live?” 

“In this city, somewhere.” 

“So does a good many other people. What’s 
his street?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yeh’ll be a long time findin’ him without 
it.” 

“I’m afraid so. I didn’t think the city was 
so large. I’ve never been in a city before.” 

“No need to tell that,” commented the boy, 
gravely. “Yeh must look in a direct’ry fust 
thing.” 

“Direct’ry?” repeated Paul, in a puzzled tone 
of voice. 

“Yep. Course yeh don’t know ’bout it. 
Come ’long. I’ll show yeh.” 

They entered a drug store near by, and Mr. 
Jefferson Nobody was soon looking through the 
list of names under the letter H. 

“There’s a Mr. Royal Hawthorne,” he said; 
“an’ a Daisy, an’ a William. They all seem to 
live at the same place. B’long teh yer tribe?” 

“My uncle’s name is John. I don’t know 


54 SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

anything about his family, or even whether he 
had one." 

“Well, that’s the only Hawthorne here. 
We’d better see him.’’ 

“Are you going, too?’’ asked Paul, in sur¬ 
prise. 

“I s’pose I’ve got to. Yeh’ll never find the 
place alone. ’’ 

“It would be very good of you; but of course 
there’s no ‘got to’ about it.’’ 

“Yep, there is a‘got to,’ but course yeh don’t 
understand it. It comes o’ my bein’ a child o’ 
Fortune. I have duties that the poor can’t un¬ 
derstand, an’ this seems teh be one of ’em! 
Come on. We’ll begin the s’arch for the long- 
lost uncle. ’’ 

“How do you know he’s long lost?’’ 

“Oh, that’s part of the story, yeh know. 
That’s what makes it interestin’.’’ 

“Do you like readin’, too?’’ 

“Don’t know. Don’t do much of it.’’ 

While they walked along, Paul studied his new 
friend closely. He appeared to be about fifteen 
years of age, and well grown for his years. He 
had a fine, open countenance, not particularly 
handsome, yet good to look at. His eyes were 
a dark gray, his hair almost black and slightly 
curly. A part of it fell over a broad, high fore¬ 
head, and his torn hat was worn on the back of 
his head, showing his “bang,’’ as Paul called 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


55 


it, in a most picturesque way. While not as 
dirty as some of the boys Paul had seen, he was 
really far from being clean, and his clothing, 
which had evidently never been made for him, 
was about as ragged as it could be and hang to 
his lithe body. One certainly would never have 
suspected him of being a child of Fortune. 

“What am I to call you?” asked Paul, sud¬ 
denly. It had occurred to him that the name 
under which his new friend had introduced him¬ 
self was rather long for everyday use. 

“You might call me by my name,” suggested 
Sir Jefferson Nobody, his eyes twinkling with fun. 

“Do you mean the name you gave me?” 

“In course. What else should I mean?” 

“Well,” replied Paul, “it would suit me bet¬ 
ter if it were chipped off at both ends.” 

“Most folks seem teh feel that way ’bout it,” 
replied the boy; “an’ so I’m gin’rally called 
Jeff, an’ I alus answer jus’ as pleasant zif the 
hull name was flung at me. I telled yeh I was 
both ’ristercratic an’ humble.” 

Jeff soon discovered that Mr. Royal Haw¬ 
thorne had no relative named John, and that he 
had never heard of a man of that name. “I 
don’t believe,” said he, “that there is a Haw¬ 
thorne in the city except of my family.” 

“What is to be done now?” asked Paul, with a 
most unpleasant sinking in the region of his heart. 

“Now, we’ll go to the chief of police an’ see 


56 


S/H yBFFEESON NOBOD r 


what he can tell us. Yer uncle John may be a 
feller who finds it wisest teh keep shady.” 

‘‘What do you mean?” asked Paul, angrily. 

“Jest what I say,” was the calm response. 
“Yeh don’t know this uncle o’ your’n, yeh said, 
didn’t yeh?” 

“Yes; I’ve not seen him since I was a baby; 
but my father told me a great deal about him 
before he died. ” 

“Got his picter?” 

“A small tintype taken when he was quite a 
young man. I imagine he must look very much 
as my father did before he died, for father said 
they looked so much alike at twenty that people 
took them to be twins.” 

“All right. That gives us somethin’ to go 
on. Now for the p’lice court.” 

“I don’t want to go there, Jeff.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because the very thought seems like an 
insult to my uncle.” 

“Bosh! Tain’t sayin’ yer uncle’s a thief. 
The p’lice know everybody. If he is—well, 
shady—they know it, an’ if he ain’t, they’ll 
know it, an’ they can tell us how teh go teh work 
teh find him. ” 

Arrived at the police court, Paul showed the 
small tintype of his uncle, and answered the 
many questions asked him as to the personal ap¬ 
pearance of his father before his death. At the 


S/B yEBBEBSOJV NOBODY 57 

conclusion of the examination, the officer said, 
kindly: 

“My lad, I am inclined to the opinion that 
you will be just as well off if you don’t find your 
uncle at all. ’’ 

“Why?” asked Paul, his voice trembling a 
little in spite of his efforts to keep it steady, for 
he felt that he was going to hear something that 
would be hard to bear. 

“Well, because the only John Hawthorne who 
ever lived in this city left some ten years ago, 
under suspicious circumstances.” 

“What were they?” 

“He was a clerk, and had helped himself to 
considerable of his employer’s property.” 

“Then he was not my uncle,” replied Paul, 
proudly. “No relative of my father would do 
a thing like that. ” 

“He was the only John Hawthorne who ever 
lived in this city. I have reason to know, for I 
gave considerable time to an investigation of 
the case. ” 

“Then my uncle never lived in this city,” re¬ 
plied Paul, obstinately. “I tell you he was not 
a thief. ” 

“Well, good-bye, my lad. I like your face, 
and I hope you are right. If ever I can do any¬ 
thing for you, come in again.” 

Paul nodded his head, and turned away. He 
could not speak. 


58 


SfH JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


As Paul turned away, Jeff pulled off his rag¬ 
ged cap and honored the officer with a profound 
salutation. 

“I thank yeh,” he said, pompously, “fer the 
int’rest ye’ve tuk in my protygy, an’ I can 
promise yeh that some day yeh’ll git yer re¬ 
ward.” 

‘‘Who the dickens are you?” asked the offi¬ 
cer, an amused smile playing around his mouth. 

‘‘Sir Jefferson Nobody, at yer service, ” replied 
Jeff, quickly. Then, with his head very erect, 
he strode from the room, followed by a shout of 
laughter from the assembled officers. He paid 
not the slightest attention to the laughter, how¬ 
ever, but turning to Paul, said: 

‘‘It looks zif yeh didn’t have many friends in 
this here city. ” 

Paul nodded, and tears came to his eyes. For 
the moment he wished himself back with Minnie 
at the Staples farmhouse. 

‘‘Well, my friend, I invite yeh teh tarry 
awhile at my castle. Rosebud Villa on the 
Rhine.” 


CHAPTER VII 


“Rosebud Villa on the Rhine,” repeated 
Paul. “That is a fine name.” 

“It is a fine old castle,” replied Jeff, quietly. 

“Do your father and mother live there?” 

“They’re there sometimes, I s’pose, but I 
never see ’em. Don’t s’pose I’d know ’em if I 
did see ’em.” 

“Why?” 

“ ’Cause they went travelin’ when I was a lit¬ 
tle chap—too little to ’member, an’ they haven’t 
never come back. ” 

“How, then, can they be in your—your— 
castle sometimes?” 

“Oh, that is only in thought. It stan’s teh 
resin, don’t it, that my payrents must think o’ 
me onct in a while?” 

“I don’t know whether it does or not, after 
all these years,” replied Paul, reflectively. Then 
he added: “If not your parents, whom do you 
live with?” 

“King George the Third.” 

Paul stared at him so long that Jeff burst out 
laughing. 


59 


6o 


S/R JEFFERSON NO BOD T 


“D’yeh think I’m plumb crazy?” he asked. 

“It looks that way,” replied Paul, honestly. 

“Wa’al, I ain’t. I’ll explainify. When my 
folks went travelin’, they left me in a poorhouse 
near Chicago fer safe keepin’. When I got old 
’nough I runned away and come here. I sold 
papers, an’ blacked boots, an’ slep’ where night 
found me an’ a cop couldn’t find me, an’ one 
day I found Rosebud Villa on the Rhine. An 
old man lived there all alone, an’ he was sick. 
I seed as how he needed me, so I stayed. Now 
ye’ve got the hull story.” 

“Does the old man own the place?” 

“He says so. Sometimes I think he lies. 
He’s a queer old duffer.” 

“What’s his real name?” 

“He hasn’t never telled me. I was huntin* 
in my mind fer a name that would fit mine an’ 
the castle, an’ he telled me ter call him King 
George the Third. He said the king was a half¬ 
witted ol’ chap along in his later years, an’ the 
name would jes’ fit him, an’ I agreed with him.” 

This explanation relieved Paul more than he 
would have been willing to admit. He believed 
he had now got the key to the strange character 
who had so unexpectedly befriended him. 

“You work for a living, I should judge,” he 
said, questioningly, with a glance at Jeff’s hands. 

“Nop. A child of Fortune like me don’t hev 
teh work fer a livin’. In course I put in my 


S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODT 6l 

time so’s not teh git lonesome. Down in the 
heart o’ the city there’s a great palace. It is 
built fer the ‘Grand Assistants o’ the Mighty 
Hunters.’ I’m one of ’em.” 

“Is that a secret society?” 

“Nop. I’ll take yeh there some day, p’r’aps, 
an’ yeh kin see fer yerself jes’ how we ’muses 
ourselves. Wot’s yer plans, sposin’ yeh don’t 
find yer uncle—which yeh won’t?” 

“I haven’t any. I must get work somewhere, 
of course. ” 

“How’d yeh like teh be a Grand Assistant 
Mighty Hunter long o’ me?” 

“How can I tell until I know more about it?” 
replied Paul, laughing. 

“Wa’al, ye’ll know more some day. See that 
house over there, teh yer right, by its lone¬ 
some?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s Rosebud Villa on the Rhine.” 

Paul was not greatly disappointed in the ap¬ 
pearance of this house, now that he had begun 
to understand his new friend. 

The house was low and unpainted. It stood 
on the outskirts of the city, at some distance 
from neighbors, and looked cheerless and uncom¬ 
fortable. It contained one room, sixteen feet 
square, and a little less than eight feet high. A 
rude staircase in one corner led to a room under 
the roof, the ceiling of which sloped from ten 


63 


S/jR JEFFERSON NOBODT 


feet in the center to less than three feet from 
the floor at the sides. This attic room belonged 
exclusively to the old man, as Paul afterward 
ascertained. No one was allowed in it without 
his permission. 

In the lower room there was a small, cracked 
kitchen stove, a rude, home-made bedstead, 
table and cupboard, two or three stools and 
three kitchen chairs. 

“Welcome to Rosebud Villa on the Rhine,” 
said Jeff, as the two boys reached the door. 
“There,” pointing to a strip of low land which 
the home fronted, “is the Rhine. The ign’r’nt 
chumps ’round here calls it Minnehaha Creek, 
dost back o’ the castle is a place where the wild 
roses grow tremenjus in the summer. Yeh jist 
oughter see ’em.” Jeff’s eyes kindled with the 
very thought of those roses, until they seemed to 
glorify his whole face. “Them roses is what 
give the castle its name,” he continued. “Now, 
come in, an’ I’ll interduce yeh to his majesty.” 

Paul followed Jeff into the room. An old 
man sat crouching over the stove in which a 
stick of green wood smouldered. He was bent, 
and so thin and wrinkled that Paul shrank from 
him in dismay when he first caught sight of him. 
“King George the Third,” began Jeff, “here is 
a angel unawares. His wings is jes’ sproutin’. 
He is a wanderer, an’ I took him in.” 

“Didn’t you go to work to-day?” demanded 



HE IS A WANDERER, AND I TOOK HIM IN 











































































































































































































































































































































Sm JEFFERSON NOBODY 63 

the old man, looking at Jeff sharply, and paying 
not the slightest attention to Paul. 

“Hav’n’t yet, Georgy. Goin’ soon’s I’ve had 
some grub. ” 

“Where have you been all the forenoon? It 
is almost eleven o’clock.’’ 

“Been helpin’ this ere cove find his uncle. 
Hasn’t found him yet, neither. Cop’s agreed 
teh help. Angel’s goin’ ter stay here a spell. 
From the kintry. Good chap, I guess. I’ll see 
cop on my way home teh-night, an’ find out what 
he’s found out, which will be nawthin’! Georgy, 
why don’t yeh have a fire what is a fire? What 
right yeh got teh shiver roun’ here this way?’’ 

While Jeff was talking he was working almost 
on the run. He built a bright fire, put on the 
teakettle, spread a newspaper over the table, 
and brought out what few dishes the cupboard 
contained. They were badly cracked, and 
looked as if they had not been very well 
washed. 

“These satin tablecloths of ourn is most 
gone,’’ he said, referring to the newspaper. 
“I’ll try teh git some more teh-night, fer we 
must put our best foot forward while Angel’s 
here. ’’ 

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,’’ said 
Paul, who had taken a seat near the window. 

“Why?’’ 

“Oh, I don’t know,’’ replied Paul, uneasily; 


64 SIR JEFFERSOlSr NOBOD T 

“perhaps because it doesn’t sound quite rever¬ 
ent.” 

For the first time the old man glanced at 
Paul. His eyes were very bright and clear. 
They were set under shaggy eyebrows of jet 
black, that contrasted strangely with the heavy 
white beard and the long white hair falling over 
his shoulders. As he looked at Paul, his eyes 
were so sharp and steady that the lad had the 
uncomfortable feeling that his inmost thoughts 
were being read. 

“But I have nothing to be afraid of,” he 
quickly decided, and returned the old man’s 
scrutiny quite fearlessly. 

“Reverent,” repeated Jeff. “What’s that?” 
Then without waiting for a reply, “It don’t mat¬ 
ter how it sounds, howsomever. Fac’s is what 
counts. Fac’s is fac’s, yeh know, an’ in this 
case the fac’ is yer the angel what Georgy an’ 
me is entertainin’ unawares. Now, Angel, draw 
up teh the festive board an’ help yerself. ” 

As Jeff spoke, he pushed the old man’s chair 
to the end of the table nearest the fire. The 
meal consisted of bread, tea and doughnuts. Jeff 
toasted a slice of bread for the old man, and 
buttered it quite generously from a tiny pat of 
butter in a teacup in one corner of the cup¬ 
board; but there was no butter on the table. 
Paul had thought the bill of fare at Farmer 
Staples’ somewhat limited; in fact, more meager 


6 ’//? JEFFERSON NOBODT 65 

than it could possibly be anywhere else; but he 
was now forced to acknowledge that this was 
worse. 

At the conclusion of the meal, Jelf said: 

“Know how to wash dishes, Angel?” 

“I’ve helped sometimes.” 

“Sposen yeh try it alone. I’ve got teh hus¬ 
tle.” 

“Don’t know as hustling will make much dif¬ 
ference,” said the old man, in a tone of strong 
disapproval. “Likely you’ll lose your job for 
this morning’s work.” 

“Oh, I guess not. Don’t pay no ’tendon to 
him, Angel. Jist stay here till I git back. Wipe 
the dishes on the satin tablecloth, then burn it 
up. We have a new one a’most every time. 
That’s one of the things what makes us ’rister- 
cratic. Good-bye, King George.” 

With that Jeff was off, slamming the door 
behind him, and Paul was left to put in the 
afternoon with the old man as best he could. 
He watched Jeff running down the road, and 
wished most heartily that he had been invited 
to accompany him. Suddenly he was startled 
by the voice of his companion. 

“Boy, have you got any money?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


Paul turned as if shot, and his heart almost 
stopped beating. The question was asked in 
a tone that made him feel as if his companion 
might be standing close behind him with a re¬ 
volver or two and a knife. But he was sitting 
quietly beside the stove, where Jeff had placed 
him, with both claw-like hands stretched over 
it. His face, with its piercing eyes, was turned 
toward him. Otherwise he had not moved. 

“A little,” replied Paul, reluctantly. “Why?” 

“How much?” 

“Seventy-five cents.” 

“It is your duty to help Jeff as long as it 
lasts. ” 

“I don’t understand you.” 

“Jeff will keep you here until you can do bet¬ 
ter. It is just like him. He is a fool and head¬ 
strong, and he’ll do it, in spite of anything I can 
say. ” 

“You need not be troubled,” began Paul, 
stiffly. “I don’t propose to stay where I am not 
wanted. Jeff says this is your home-” 

“He has taken care of me for three years. I 
66 



S/I^ JEFFERSON NOBODT 


67 


haven’t had a penny of my own in all that time. 
He takes care of me, and is master here, and 
everything goes as he says. If he wants you to 
stay, that is enough. I’ve nothing to say in the 
matter, except, perhaps, to give a hint now and 
then that I hope will not be taken unkindly. I 
trust you will not mention it to him.” 

“What do you want me to do?” asked Paul, 
who was more favorably impressed toward the 
old man at the conclusion of his explanation. 

“Go out and buy something for supper, and 
have it all ready when Jeff gets home.” 

Paul entered into the plan with enthusiasm. 
The old man spent the rest of the afternoon 
sitting silently beside the stove. He paid no 
further attention to Paul, not even to reply to 
his questions, except once. Paul had gone to 
replenish the fire, when the old man interfered. 

“We can’t spare the wood,” he said, almost 
sternly. “It will not get very cold here before 
the lad comes. He wastes wood, and we can’t 
afford it.” 

Paul went out to do his shopping, glad of an 
excuse to get away from his unpleasant compan¬ 
ion. When he returned he had a number of 
parcels, and there was only a nickel left in his 
pocket. 

“We’ll have a fine feast,” he said, “and I’ll 
begin to earn money to-morrow if I don’t hear 
anything from Uncle John.” 


68 SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

Paul was not used to cooking, but he man¬ 
aged to get things on the table just as Jeff ap¬ 
peared in the doorway. 

“Gee whiz!“ exclaimed Jeff. “Beefsteak, 
potatoes, white bread, butter, apple pie and cof¬ 
fee! Angel, did you do this?” 

“I did,” replied Paul. “Hurry! Let’s eat 
before the steak spoils.” 

“Yeh hadn’t oughter done it,” said Jeff, 
gravely. “Yeh can’t afford it.” 

“What did you hear about uncle?” asked 
Paul, eagerly. 

“Nawthin*. I knowed I shouldn’t. Yeh’ve 
got teh consider as how yeh hain’t got no uncle. ’ ’ 

“Well, I am going to look for work to-mor¬ 
row.” 

“Bully fer you. Be yeh gritty?” 

“I don’t know that I quite understand you.” 

“It takes a pile o’ grit teh look fer work these 
days, ’cause, yeh see, yeh mostly don’t git it. 
Yeh hev ter make up yer mind that yer goin’ ter 
ask ninety-nine times without givin’ up. Yeh 
kin be purty sure that ye’ll git it the hundredth 
time, if yeh don’t the ninety-ninth.” 

“Are you in earnest?” asked Paul. “Is work 
so very hard to get?” 

“Hard!” repeated Jeff, in a tone of voice 
that cannot be described. It was sufficient, 
however, to make Paul’s heart feel very heavy. 

“Well,” he said, “I’ve got to find something 


S/H JEFFERSON NOBODT 69 

to do, and I shall begin to-morrow. Can you 
give me any idea as to the best way to begin?” 

‘‘I guess I kin, Angel, my boy; I guess I 
kin,” was the hearty reply. 

Paul’s eyes brightened, and he laid down his 
knife and fork and looked expectantly toward 
his friend. 

“Well?” he asked finally, for Jeff had been so 
busy helping the old man to the tenderest bit of 
the beefsteak that he seemed to have forgotten 
everything else. 

“Oh, them ideas!” said.he, suddenly, recol¬ 
lecting himself. ‘‘Wa’al, the fust one’s that 
yeh’ll go with me to-morrow mornin’ to the 
place where I ’muses myself durin’ the day. 
I’ve got yeh a job.” 

“You have!” 

“I have. Yer ter be one of the Grand Assist¬ 
ants of the Mighty Hunters, an’ ye’ll git jist 
two dollars a week, as a starter. When yeh gits 
experience, yeh’ll be paid more.” 

“Jeff, I don’t know how to thank you!” 

“Yeh might kiss my hand, or make a bow 
before me an’ tech yer cherry lips teh my toe! 
That’s the way ’ristercrats is rewarded in 
books. ” 

“But I don’t believe you want me to do that. ” 

“I don’t want yeh teh do nothin’ else, but 
yeh’ll put it off a spell, if ye pleases. When I 
gits a good ready I’ll call on yeh.” 


70 


S/H NO BOOT 


From the time Jeff returned from his work the 
old man had not spoken. He had, however, 
eaten a very hearty meal, accepting, without 
thanks or comments, the best of everything 
which Jeff did not forget to help him to. When 
he had finished eating, he looked at Jeff and 
said: 

“I’m ready now.’’ 

“All right,’’ said Jeff. He sprang up imme¬ 
diately, pushed the old man’s chair from the 
table, and helped him up the ladder. When 
they reached the top Jeff sat on the highest rung 
of the ladder, and looked straight down into the 
room below, while the old man made his way to 
the bed. 

“All right; go down,’’ said the old man a 
few moments later, and Jeff promptly obeyed. 

“He’s a queer old cove,’’ he said, when he 
rejoined Paul, “but I like him. Guess he’d go 
plumb inteh a fit if he thought I’d go inteh his 
room ’thout his tellin’ me teh.’’ 

“Why does he object?’’ 

“Oh, he’s a leetle crazy, I guess; but he 
don’t hurt no one. I wouldn’t plague him for 
anythin’ ’bout it. I’d feel mean teh do that.’’ 

“I don’t believe it would be possible for you 
to do anything mean,’’ said Paul, in a burst of 
enthusiasm. He was thinking of the new work 
that had been found for him, and how nice it 


S/J^ JEFFERSON NOBODT 71 

would be for him to have two dollars a week for 
his very own. 

“Humph, “snorted Jeff, “yeh don’t know me. 
I’m plumb full o’ meanness. Just wait till yeh 
know me, Angel, me boy!” 


CHAPTER IX 


The next morning Paul was suddenly awak¬ 
ened by a loud, clattering noise which gave him 
a momentary fear that the house was coming 
down about his ears. 

“What in time is that?” he asked, springing 
up. 

“Nawthin’ but Georgy’s shoes,” replied Jeff, 
with a smile. He was standing beside the stove 
stirring a little dish of oatmeal that he had 
started cooking the evening before in order 
to have it ready for breakfast. 

“Georgy throws his shoes down to let me 
know he’s purty near ready teh foller ’em,” he 
added. 

“How long have you been up?” asked Paul. 
“It’s strange I didn’t hear you.” 

“You?” exclaimed Jeff, with a laugh. “Why, 
yeh was snorin’ so loud it’s a wonder yeh heard 
Georgy’s shoes! Don’t yeh want teh git the 
table ready while I haul the King down the lad¬ 
der?” 

Paul announced his willingness to be of use, 
and hastily dressed himself. 


72 


S/R JEFFERSON NOBODY 


73 


“Where’s the towel?’’ he asked, when he had 
washed his face in a basin that stood on a dry- 
goods box near the stove. 

“Take one of the satin tablecloths,’’ replied 
Jeff, carelessly. “We never use common towels 
in this castle. ’’ 

Paul understood, and, picking up a newspaper, 
dried his face and hands as well as he could. 

Meanwhile, Jeff had gone to the head of the 
stairs, and was carefully helping the old man 
down. His coat had been thrown after the 
shoes, and Jeff had picked it up from the floor 
and hung it on the back of one of the chairs, be¬ 
fore the fire, where it would get warm. The 
shoes were standing on the stove hearth. 

“How he thinks of everything,’’ thought 
Paul. “I wonder if I could ever get to be like 
that. I wasn’t half as good to father as I might 
have been. ’’ 

Jeff helped the old man to put on his coat 
and shoes, then brought the wash basin, into 
which he poured a little hot water from the tea¬ 
kettle. 

When he was ready for breakfast, Jeff pushed 
his chair to the table, as he had done the night 
before. 

After breakfast the two boys started off to 
their work. As they left the house Paul said: 
“How did you learn to do it, Jeff?’’ 

“Do what?’’ 


74 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


“Why, what you do for—for King George, 
as you call him.” 

“Oh, that! There wa’n’t no learnin’ teh 
that. I seen as how he needed things done, 
an’ I did ’em.” 

“Can’t he get around at all without help?” 

“A leetle; but if I helps him more than he 
actually needs I saves his strength fer a longer 
time. That’s ’bout the way I figger it out.” 

“I shouldn’t think you would care if he didn’t 
live very long; he’s so helpless and unpleas¬ 
ant-” 

Jeff turned suddenly and fixed his steady gray 
eyes on Paul’s face. They burned with an ex¬ 
pression that made Paul feel uncomfortable. 

“Let up on that,” he said, sternly; “I like 
him.” 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” said Paul, 
quickly. “Please forgive me.” 

“Sartin. ” Jeff’s voice had the old pleasant 
ring in it, and the frown left his face so quickly 
that Paul looked at him in wonder. 

“Yeh see,” continued Jeff, “I never hed 
any one teh keer for but him, an’—an’—it seems 
so good that I can’t get over bein’ glad. I sup¬ 
pose he don’t look teh me jes’ as he does teh 
you, fer yeh don’t like him. Yer feared o’ 
him?” 

“No,” interrupted Paul, “not exactly afraid; 
but I can’t tell what the feeling is. I presume 



SIR JEFRERSON NO BOD I' 75 

I’ll get used to him after a while—that is, if you 
let me stay with you long enough.” 

“Does yeh want teh stay?” 

‘‘I should be very glad to.” 

‘‘Then stay.” 

‘‘I can help pay the expenses-” 

‘‘Sartin. We’ll fix it when yeh gits some 
spondulicks teh pay with. With your two thou¬ 
sand dollars a week, an’ my three thousand we 
might live as ’ristercrats should.” 

‘‘I thought you said I was to have but two 
dollars a week,” said Paul, smiling to himself. 
He wanted to draw Jeff out by pretending not 
to understand him. 

‘‘That’s the way the low-downers reckon it,” 
replied Jeff. ‘‘Sich reck’nin’ don’t fit the motto 
of a child o’ fortune.” 

“What is the motto?” 

‘‘Every child o’ fortune has teh have one all 
teh hisself. It is somethin’ teh sorter square 
his life by. Mine is ‘Make the best o’ things.’ ” 

‘‘I see!” exclaimed Paul. ‘‘That’s tiptop! 
And you live up to your motto by calling three 
dollars three thousand dollars, and a shanty the 
Villa Rosebud, and so on.” 

‘‘I has teh do them things, fer a nobleman 
what’s worth his salt has teh live up teh his 
motto. An’ it makes life purty. While I’m 
a-thinking I gits three thousand dollars I hain’t 
a-wishin’ I was a-gettin’ more. An’ it’s a sight 



76 


S/H JEFFERSON NOBODT 


easier teh be patient with King Georgy on the 
cranky days when his rheumatiz is bad, if I calls 
teh mind the fac’ that he is a king, an’ has a 
right teh be as obstreperous as he kin! If he 
was alius meek, he wouldn’t be a bit like a king, 
an’ ’twould be a sight harder teh make b’lieve. ” 

Suddenly Paul’s thoughts darted in a new di¬ 
rection. 

“What do you suppose is the reason,’’ he 
asked, “that the old gentleman doesn’t want any 
one to go up into his room?’’ 

“I don’t know jist’zactly, but I think he’s in¬ 
ventin’ somethin’ an’ don’t want me teh see it.’’ 

“I should be tempted to steal a look around, 
then, sometime.’’ 

“I wouldn’t do sich a thing fer nawthin’ in 
this world. It happifies him teh think there’s 
one place where no one can’t go ’cept hisself.’’ 

“But he needn’t know.’’ 

“Does yeh mean that?’’ again the gray eyes 
blazed into Paul’s face. 

“Why, of course I don’t,’’ replied Paul, 
blushing furiously. Yet, in his heart, he was 
not sure that he would be quite so true in mat¬ 
ters of such small importance as Jeff was. 

“True ’ristercrats never does things what’s 
low down,” said Jeff slowly, “an’ I don’t ’soci- 
ate with common trash. King Georgy knows as 
how Sir Jefferson Nobody’s a chap what kin be 
trusted.” 


sm JEFFERSON NOBODT 77 

“Do you suppose he is really inventing any¬ 
thing worth while?” asked Paul, to change the 
conversation. 

“Nop,” replied Jeff, with quiet emphasis. 
“I’m feared that invention is what’s kept him 
poor. I guess he’s alus thought as how he could 
invent, an’ so he never took teh gettin’ him a 
livin’. Poor ole chap! Why, Paul, that old 
King Georgy o’ mine is ac-chilly eddicated! He 
knows a heap 1” 

Paul had never seen Jeff so excited as when 
making this statement. It was as if no greater 
good could come to a man than to be educated. 

“That’s what I mean to be some day,” re¬ 
plied Paul. 

“Yeh do? Shake, Angel; so does I.” 

The two boys shook hands on it, then Jeff 
said, pointing to a building across the street: 

“There’s the palace!” 

“Where we are to work?” 

“Sartin.” 

It was a long, low, frame building of not very 
prepossessing appearance. As they entered 
it, Paul noticed that the front part of it was di¬ 
vided into offices, and that from the rear there 
issued an odor that was sickening. 

“This is the boy I telled yeh ’bout,” said 
Jeff, stepping up to a pleasant faced lady, and 
speaking very loudly. 

“What did you say?” she asked. Her voice 


78 S/Ii yBFFEJRSOJV NOBODT 

was very sweet, and Paul liked her at once and 
was sorry she was so hard of hearing. 

Jeff repeated his introduction in a still louder 
tone of voice, and then she led the way to a 
stern-looking man, seated by a high desk. 

“Here is the boy Jeff rescued from the street 
yesterday,” she said, “the one to whom you said 
you would give work.” 

The man looked up and gave Paul a glance so 
swift, so stern and so comprehensive that the 
poor lad shivered. 

“Set him to work,” he said briefly, “and tell 
Jeff that if he idles another forenoon away as he 
did yesterday he will be discharged.” 

Paul followed the lady back into the outer 
office, where, during the next few hours, he 
learned that he was office boy for a firm that 
bought hides and furs from all over the north¬ 
west, and that the room in the rear was filled 
with them. 

Jeff worked in the rear room, helping the 
man care for them. It was certainly far from 
being a pleasant way to earn a living, yet he 
was, to quote himself, “A Grand Assistant 
Mighty Hunter, on a salary of three thousand 
dollars a week. ” 


CHAPTER X 


Minnie’s heart beat fast when she entered her 
cold little room that Christmas night and closed 
the door behind her. For more than three hours 
she had carried the precious letter from brother 
Paul in her pocket, and until now there had not 
been one moment in which she could go away 
by herself and read it. But it was a pleasure to 
her to have it. She felt that Paul must be well 
or he could not have written it, and happy or he 
would not ha.ve done so. She had spent many 
pleasant moments while attending to the house¬ 
work that day in imagining what Paul had writ¬ 
ten. Had he found Uncle John and a pleasant 
home, and had he written that his uncle was 
ready to pay Farmer Staples what she had cost 
him, and wanted her to come at once? 

When the letter was finally opened, a task 
that was undertaken with the greatest care, for 
this was Minnie’s first letter, this is what the 
little girl read: 

Dear Sister Min : 

You have been looking for a letter for ever so many 
days, I know, but I couldn’t write until there was some- 

79 


8o 


SI I? yEFFERSON NOBODY 


thing to say. I do hope Aunt Cassie will be able to get 
this to you very soon after it reaches her. 

I got here after considerable difficulty, which I’ll tell 
you about when I see you. It would take too long to 
write it. Hadn’t been here very long before I ran across 
one of the queerest chaps you ever saw and one of the 
best. He calls himself Sir Jefferson Nobody, and I’m 
living with him now. You ought to see our house. Jeff 
calls it a castle. The Staples house is a castle compared 
to it, and if you could see what we have to eat you would 
think you were living on the top shelf. But it’s all right. 
I’d rather be here than be pounded by old Farmer 
Staples. We’ll go back to that first day. Jeff went with 
me to find Uncle John. We looked in a directory and 
went to a police court and did everything, but we can’t 
find out that but one person by that name ever lived in 
the city, and, Min, he was a thief! Of course, it isn’t 
our uncle. There is no telling how many John Haw.- 
thornes there may be in the world, and I’m as sure as 
sure can be that papa’s brother never took a cent that 
didn’t belong to him. Still, I think it is best not to hunt 
for him any more, for how dreadful it would be to have 
to know beyond a doubt that this thief really was our 
uncle. The man at the police court said the little picture 
of papa looked very much like the John Hawthorne they 
knew. He has gone away from the city, and no one 
knows where he is. I am glad of that, I tell you, although, 
of course, it ought not to make the least bit of difference 
to me. 

I must stop writing pretty soon, for my hand aches. 
I am working in a place where hides and furs are bought 
from hunters, and tanned or stored as they are until sold 
again. It smells horribly, and I’m sick at my stomach 
most of the time. The barn at home—I mean at Staples’ 
—is sweet in comparison, I hate the boss, he is so cross. 


SIJi yEFFEIiSOJV NOBODY 81 

There is a lady, though, who is pretty near an angel. 
She isn’t pretty, but she looks good. She is very hard of 
hearing, and I can’t talk with her much. I wish I could. 
You ought to see her when she smiles, and her face is so 
peaceful that it is good to see. I don’t get much yet, 
only two dollars a week, but after a while I’ll get more, 
and then I’m going to send for you. We’ll keep house 
by ourselves, Min, and we’ll have the tallest kind of a 
time. You’d better let Aunt Cassie into the secret, and 
whenever you get a chance send some of papa’s books to 
her. Get them all away from there before you start, or 
we’ll never see them, and we can’t keep house without 
them. I’m simply starving for a sight of them. With 
lots of love to the dearest sister in the world, I am 

Brother Paul. 

Minnie read the letter from beginning to end 
three times, then blew out the light and crept, 
shivering, between the icy sheets. 

“It would be nice to go away from here and 
keep house for Paul,” she thought. “I should 
like it better than anything else in the world; 
but, oh! it would be such a long, long time be¬ 
fore it could happen, for Paul would have to 
earn enough first to pay what I have cost Mr. 
and Mrs. Staples. I couldn’t run away, as Paul 
wants me to. I can’t go until they are paid and 
everything is fixed honestly, and so I shall not 
begin sending the books to Aunt Cassie. When 
I go it must be right for me to take them. I 
must write and tell Paul so.” 

Early the next morning Minnie began her 


82 


s/Ji yEri^Ei^sojv nobod r 

letter to Paul. She knew it could not be finished 
for some time, for it must be written during the 
odd moments when she could get away without 
being observed. She did not know when she 
should be able to get it off. The man who had 
brought Paul’s letter had told her he should be 
around that way again in a week or two. She 
meant to wrap it in paper and send it to Aunt 
Cassie, who, she knew, would put it into an en¬ 
velope and stamp and address it for her. She 
had only brown paper on which to write it, but it 
was of quite a light shade and had been care¬ 
fully ironed out, and with a well-sharpened lead 
pencil, frequently moistened, she succeeded in 
producing a letter that was very legible. 

Here is a copy of it: 

Dear Brother Paul: 

If I were to write for weeks and weeks I don’t 
believe I could tell you half how glad I was to get your 
letter. Nor can I tell you half how I miss you. Papa’s 
books don’t seem the same when you are not here to 
read them with me. I read poems all the time now, for 
I know you do not care so much for them, and I am sav¬ 
ing all the other books to read when we are together 
again. I even put “ The Pathfinder ” away without finish¬ 
ing it, and you know we left it at a most interesting 
place. Don’t you think I’ve been very good? I am 
reading Lowell’s poems now, and I am going to send 
you a copy of the one I like best. It is called “ Longing.” 
I had to read it many times before I quite understood it. 
Notice where it says, “The thing we long for, that we are, 
for one transcendent moment.” Transcendent is defined 


sm JEFFERSON NOBODY 


S3 


in the dictionary, “very excellent.” Of course there are 
other meanings, but this is the one Lowell had in mind, 
I’m sure. I think the poem proves that it is quite right 
for us to long to be great, and that the more time we 
spend in that way the better we are. You remember you 
and I used to quarrel about it, and you said so much 
thinking in that way would spoil us for everyday life. 
Ha! ha! Mr. Paul, what do you think now? Haven’t I 
got the best of it this time? 

1 don’t suppose you have any books in that poor little 
house, and so I will try to copy something for you every 
time I write, and I’ll look up the hardest words in the 
dictionary for you, too. 

Do you know, I came very near going to school this 
winter? Mrs. Staples had promised, and she really 
meant it, then the poor thing had a bad fall and sprained 
her ankle. I have been taking care of her and doing all 
the work ever since. But she is better to me than she 
ever was before. I have not been whipped once since 
you went away. Perhaps it might have been different 
with both of us long ago if we had only known. You 
see, we were so much to each other that we didn’t try 
very hard to take any one else into our hearts. I know 
you will laugh at the very idea of our taking Mr. and 
Mrs. Staples into our hearts, but I am really doing it, 
Paul. I’ve had more time to get acquainted with Mrs. 
Staples since you went away, and I like her ever so much 
better, and I think she likes me better, too. I kiss her 
every night, now, and I really believe she likes it. I am 
going to try to coax her to let me read to her from some 
of papa’s books pretty soon, but I’ll be sure to select 
those you and I have gone through. 

Paul, dear, I can’t run away from her, as you ask 
me to, and I shall not send the books to Aunt Cassie. I 
want to go awfully. I would rather keep house for you 


84 


S/Jt yEFFERSON NOBOD F 


than do anything else in the world, but I can’t do it until 
you have earned enough to pay Mr. and Mrs. Staples 
what we owe them. It wouldn’t be right. I think you 
can do it in just a little while, now you have such a good 
start; don’t you? 

Please write to me as often as you can, and don’t 
forget that you have every bit of the heart of your loving 
sister Minnie. 


CHAPTER XI 


When Paul stepped into a shop on his way 
home one night to purchase the paper on which 
to write to Minnie, Jeff watched him curiously. 
Although Paul had been with him several days, 
he had not volunteered any information about 
his past life, except that he was an orphan and 
had been living with a man who had abused him. 
He was naturally secretive, and shrank from 
mentioning his sister to one whom he had known 
so short a time as he had known Jeff. It is say¬ 
ing much for Jeff’s native politeness to be able 
to record that he had carefully refrained from 
questioning Paul. He wished no confidences 
unless freely given. 

“I must write to my sister this evening,” said 
Paul, as the two boys left the shop. 

“Didn’t know yeh had one,” replied Jeff. 

“The nicest little sister in the world!” ex¬ 
claimed Paul. “I’m going to get a room or two 
just as soon as my salary is raised, and then 
Minnie will come and keep house for me. She 
will bring my father’s books. He had forty- 
seven books, Jeff, and we have taken such good 

85 


86 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

care of them that they look just as good as 
new. ” 

“Kin yeh read in ’em, Paul?’’ 

“Read! I should say we can. Why, we 
know ‘Hiawatha’ and ‘The Lady of the Lake’ 
almost by heart, and I can tell lots of Dickens’ 
stories so well that you’d almost think you were 
reading them. Minnie is better on poems than 
I am; but I beat when it comes to prose. You 
see. Staples and his wife were stingy, and we 
were never allowed a light at nights; but Minnie 
used to save up candle ends, and I fixed a holder 
where they’d burn down to the last speck, and 
we used to do a great deal of reading that they 
never knew about. Then, when the light went 
out, we’d sit in the dark and see who could tell the 
most of what we had read. It was a very pleasant 
way to put in our time. Do you like reading?” 

“Think I mought, if I could do it.” 

“Can’t you read? Can’t you read at all?” 

“I spells things out, but it’s slow work. 
Georgy teached me. I didn’t know nothin’ 
afore that. ” 

“But if you can’t read, how did you get hold 
of so many stories? Did King George read them 
to you?” 

“What stories?” 

“Why, those you told me last night. And 
what made you think of calling yourself a noble¬ 
man, and the shanty Rosebud Villa?” 


S/Ji JEFFERSON NO BOD T 87 

Jeff laughed happily, and so sharply that he 
interrupted Paul’s questioning. 

“Oh, great Geewhillikins!’’ he replied. 
“Does yeh call them yarns stories?’’ 

“Why yes; why not?’’ 

“They hain’t nothin’ but yarns, ’cordin’ teh 
my idee. Now a story—why, a story should 
be—wa’al, I can’t say it, but I’ve got a idee, 
an’ them yarns o’ mine ain’t nowhere!’’ 

“But where did you get them? Some one 
must have told them-’’ 

“Didn’t nobody but you ever hear ’em. I 
didn’t git ’em. They jist come. They’re in¬ 
side o’ me. Hain’t it that there way with every¬ 
body?’’ 

“It isn’t with me. I have to read, then I 
can tell what I have read. Perhaps Minnie is 
more that way; I know her stories often sound 
so different from the way they are in the book 
that they are almost as good as new. I wish she 
was here now. ’’ 

There was a note of homesickness in Paul’s 
voice that Jeff did not fail to catch. 

“Yeh like her purty well, does yeh?’’ he 
asked, almost enviously. 

“Of course I do; she’s my sister.’’ 

“I wonder jist how it feels teh have a sister? 
I never had no wimmin folks teh like. I never 
had nobody till I got teh know King George, 
an’ I can’t tell yeh how good it seems teh have 



88 SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

him. I’ve got two apples fer him. See ’em. 
Ain’t they beauties, though? I ain’t a-goin’ teh 
say nawthin’ ’bout ’em till termorror mornin’. 
He’s teh have ’em teh eat, when he’s stayin’ all 
by hisself. Did yeh hear him say anythin’ ’bout 
me that day yeh was with him?” 

“Not a great deal. He said you couldn’t 
afford to spend much for wood and such things.” 

“He didn’t say if he got lonesome or anythin’ 
when I was gone, did he?” 

“Not that I remember,” Paul answered with 
hesitation, for it had suddenly occurred to him 
that Jeff was longing for affection, and could be 
made happy by being told that the old man 
missed him. He had already discovered that 
Jeff did not want any one else to wait upon 
King George. 

“How I wish I dared to fib about it,” he 
thought, “but Jeff would be sure to find it out.” 

“Wa’al, I think it stands teh re’sin that he’d 
git lonesome, don’t you?” 

“Why, of course,” replied Paul, very decid¬ 
edly. “I'm sure he would have mentioned it if 
he had known me a little better. You know he 
was the one who suggested buying the supper 
and having it ready for you.” 

“I think as how a feller’s purty rich when he 
kin be lonesome fer somebody,” said Jeff, ear¬ 
nestly; “fer it shows he’s got somethin’ teh be 
lonesome fer, an’ that’s—that’s—why, that must 


S/J^ yEFJP'EJRSON NOBOD r 89 

be heavenly! I ’xpect I’d be mighty lonesome 
fer King George, if I didn’t hev him.” 

“If you think you’d be lonesome without 
him,” replied Paul, quite disdainfully, “think 
how it would be without a sister like Minnie. 
Why, Minnie’s pretty, and she’s the best com¬ 
pany you ever saw! You can talk to her just as 
if she were a boy, for she understands things. 
She isn’t the least bit silly, and she learns faster 
than I do. We haven’t gone to school very 
much, but we have been in the same class, when 
we did go, ever since I can remember.” 

“Tell me more about it, won’t yeh?” pleaded 
Jeff. “Does yeh remember yer folks?” 

“My parents, do you mean?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

Then Paul began at the beginning of his short 
history, or as far back as he could remember, 
and told it to the boy, whose interest was most 
flattering. There was no form of story could 
suit Jeff so well as that which described home 
life—a boy with father, mother, sisters and 
brothers. And if grandparents and a baby 
chanced to be added to the picture, his satisfac¬ 
tion was so supreme as to be almost laughable. 
It might have been quite ludicrous, perhaps, had 
it not been so very pathetic. 

The recital was almost as interesting to Paul 
as to Jeff. He had been more homesick than 
he was willing to acknowledge, even to himself, 


90 


S/Jf JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


and now he quite forgot his present surroundings 
while reviewing the scenes of his life. When he 
began to tell of the days spent in the home of 
Farmer Staples his voice was full of indignation, 
and it is certain that the old man and his wife 
were not given the benefit of the doubt in a sin¬ 
gle instance. 

“The ole varmint!’’ exclaimed Jeff, clinching 
his fists. “I’d like teh git at him jist oncet. 
Wouldn’t it make a feller feel good teh lick sich 
a chap—jes’ lick him an’ lick him?’’ 

“I’d like to give him a blow for every one 
Minnie and I have had to take, and then a few 
hundred for interest,’’ said Paul, vindictively. 
“If ever I-’’ 

“What’s that?’’ exclaimed Jeff, sharply. 
“Did yeh say as how Minnie got licked, too?’’ 

“Of course she did. Why, one day-’’ 

Paul stopped suddenly. There was an ex¬ 
pression in Jeff’s eyes that he did not quite un¬ 
derstand; but it looked very much like scorn, 
and it made him feel uncomfortable. 

“An’ yeh left her, knowin’ as how she was 
liable teh git licked any time? Yeh left her teh 
Stan’.what yeh couldn’t stan’ yerself?’’ 

“I had to, Jeff,’’ faltered Paul. “It is the 
only way I can ever hope to get her away from 
there. I’ve got to earn money to bring her 
here. And what good would it do her for me to 
stay there and get thrashed? It wouldn’t save 




SIR JEFFERSON NO BOOT 91 

her one blow. Can’t you see that I did the very 
wisest thing for us both?” 

Paul pleaded his cause earnestly. He could 
not bear the thought that this clear-eyed raga¬ 
muffin, whom he had known so short a time, 
might have a poor opinion of him, and he was 
glad that he had not mentioned the contract 
held by Farmer Staples. He really believed that 
he was justified in leaving as he did, considering 
the circumstances, but he was in doubt as to 
whether Jeff would agree with him. Jeff seemed 
to have some very queer opinions, and he was 
not easily diverted from them. 

“I’ve simply got to make a home for Minnie 
here,” continued Paul, after rather a painful 
silence. “I’m going to begin to save something 
from the very first pay day. Can you see any 
better way?” 

“Nop,” replied Jeff, slowly. “I don’t 
know’s I kin. P’rhaps yeh done the very best 
thing, but, massy me! I don’t see how yeh 
could ’a’ done it.” 

“It was hard. I started twice before I really 
got away, and gave it up both times on Minnie’s 
account. But I could see that nothing was 
gained by it, nothing whatever, and the next 
time I made myself go, and Minnie and Aunt 
Cassie helped me off.” 

“Wa’al, if yeh don’t do yer purtiest teh git 
that leetle gal out o’ that, ye’ll be too pizen 


92 


S/If JEFFERSON NOBODT 


mean teh live; that’s all I’ve got teh say,” re¬ 
plied Jeff, so emphatically as to leave no doubt 
of his opinion as to Paul’s duty now that he had 
left Minnie. 

“Perhaps I don’t mean to!” exclaimed Paul. 
“Why, Jeff, I think about it every minute.” 


CHAPTER XII 


Paul’s letter had remained with Aunt Cassie 
several days before she could get it to Minnie. 
He had expected it would be so, and had tried 
not to be disappointed in not receiving a prompt 
reply. Indeed, he had begun looking for one 
on the third day after mailing his. He had writ¬ 
ten Minnie to direct it in care of the office, and 
had told Miss Mildred, his deaf friend, that he 
was expecting a letter, and would be greatly 
obliged if she would tell him when it arrived. 
Although she had promised to do so, and he had 
no reason to doubt her good intentions in the 
matter, he could not refrain from going to the 
desk every morning when the mail had been 
sorted to see if his letter had not arrived and 
been overlooked. His frequent visits to the desk 
made him feel very well acquainted with Miss 
Mildred, although he could talk but little with 
her; for he could not succeed in making her 
hear as well as Jeff did. 

As for Miss Mildred, she found herself look¬ 
ing forward to the daily visit of the new office 
boy to her desk. He was very different from 


93 



94 


S/I^ JEFFERSON NOBODT 


the little city boys who usually held that posi¬ 
tion, being a gentleman by birth and instinct. 
Then, his acquaintance with books was unusually 
wide for a boy of his age, and that, too, had its 
effect on his bearing. His life in the farmhouse 
had accustomed him to doing so much hard work 
that the duties of this new position seemed very 
light in comparison, and he responded to every 
call upon him with an alacrity that made a favor¬ 
able impression upon his employers. 

“I do wish that letter would come,” said 
Miss Mildred to her mother one evening. She 
had been telling about Paul, and his very evident 
superiority to most boys in his position. 

“He doesn’t seem to be at all used to city 
ways,” she said, “but he is a perfect little gen¬ 
tleman, and I hope Uncle Miles will give him an 
opportunity to work up.” 

Uncle Miles was the crusty proprietor of the 
establishment in which Paul worked. 

“Why don’t you speak to Miles about him?” 
asked the mother. 

“I am going to just as soon as I can catch 
him alone, when he is not too busy to talk to 
me. Meanwhile, I wish little Paul would get 
his letter. He told me he was expecting one from 
his sister, who is the only relative he has in the 
world, so far as he knows.” 

The very next day Miss Mildred found an op¬ 
portunity to speak to her uncle about Paul. He 


SIJi yEFFEIdSON NOBOD r 


95 


was a very busy man, with an abrupt and unap¬ 
proachable manner that did not win him many 
friends. While really kind at heart, he did not 
have the credit of being so. He was known as 
an excellent business man whose word could al¬ 
ways be depended upon, and who was strictly 
honest, but among the men with whom he had 
done business for years it is doubtful if there was 
one who ever thought of him as a friend. Miss 
Mildred, his niece and bookkeeper, doubtless 
knew him better than any one else, and she al¬ 
ways dreaded an interview with him, and put it 
off as long as possible. 

“Uncle Miles,” she said, timidly, “can you 
give me a moment of your time?” 

“Use your ear trumpet,” he thundered in 
response. “I’m not inclined to shout myself 
hoarse.” 

Miss Mildred promptly took the trumpet 
from her apron pocket. It was as small as it 
could be, and be of use; but small as it was, she 
disliked using it, and never would do so if she 
could avoid it. 

“Well,” he said, when the ear trumpet ap¬ 
peared, “what do you want? I am very busy, 
remember. ” 

“I know it, uncle. I should not have come 
at all for myself-” 

This was very true. Nor would she have 
stayed had she not been so intent on helping Paul. 



96 


SIE yErFERSOJV NOBOD r 


“Who is it this time?” interrupted her uncle. 
“Our little office boy, Paul Hawthorne. Have 
you noticed him? He is really a sensible boy, 
and we’ve never had a more willing worker.” 
“Want him promoted, I suppose?” 

“There is other work that he could easily 
learn to do well, and we could then give him a 

little more-” 

“How long has he been here?” 

“About two weeks, I think.” 

“Two weeks! Humph! When that Jeff had 
been here two weeks you thought he could learn 
to run the entire establishment in two weeks 
more, and what does he amount to? He’ll 
never be beyond his present employment.” 

“I agree with you,” replied Miss Mildred, a 
little red spot appearing in each cheek. “He is 
not at all fitted for his present employment. If 

you had a little more faith in my judgment-” 

“When you find a boy with his head in the 
clouds,” interrupted Uncle Miles, “you do not 
find one who will ever become a good business 
man. Jeff does not seem to comprehend that 
his time does not belong to himself. Think of 
his going off to play the good Samaritan to that 
country lad! He was gone the entire forenoon 
of one of our busiest days, without so much as 
saying ‘by your leave,’ or giving us notice of his 
intentions. I should have discharged him at 




SIJ^ JEFFERSON NOBOD T 97 

once, if it had not been for the ridiculous fancy 
you have taken to him.” 

“I know it was aggravating, uncle, and it was 
very good of you not to discharge him.” 

“I gave him a talking to,” continued Uncle 
Miles, not noticing the interruption, “and how 
do you suppose he put in part of the afternoon 
of that busy day?” 

Uncle Miles arose from his seat as he spoke, 
and took a roll of brown wrapping paper from 
one corner of the office. Miss Mildred’s heart 
sank most uncomfortably, for she feared Jeff had 
been doing something dreadful. 

Uncle Miles took out a sheet of the paper and 
spread it before her. It was about thirty inches 
square, and completely covered with a charcoal 
drawing representing the room in which the 
hides were stored. On his knees on the floor, 
rolling one of the hides into a tight bundle, was 
a picture of a diminutive boy whom any one 
would have recognized as Jeff himself. He wore 
a king’s crown, and a scepter stood by his side. 
Towering above him was a large man wearing a 
fool’s cap, that bore a striking resemblance to 
Uncle Miles. Jeff had made himself appear so 
ridiculously tiny and his employer so huge in 
proportion that Miss Mildred was reminded of 
pictures she had seen of giants and pigmies. 
She felt like laughing, but did not dare. 


98 


s/n yEj^i^EJ?soi\r NOBOD r 


“I didn’t know the boy could draw as well as 
that,” she said. 

‘‘I am not paying him to draw at all,” replied 
her uncle, sharply. “Now, see here.” 

Taking out a strip of tanned fur, he unrolled 
it and there on its inner surface was another 
drawing. It represented the overseer, under 
whom Jeff worked, in the act of sweeping the 
floor with a broom that bore a strong resem¬ 
blance to Jeff. His thin legs were twined to¬ 
gether for the broom handle, and his hair made 
the brush. 

Miss Mildred did laugh this time, and her 
uncle scowled ominously. 

“He is really witty,” she said, “and he cer¬ 
tainly has talent. ” 

“Too much talent to remain here a great 
while,” growled Uncle Miles. “What dealer, 
do you suppose, will buy that piece of fur? I 
can’t afford to have such business going on, and 
what’s more, I don’t mean to. Keep that pet 
of yours within bounds or he’ll be surprised 
with a dismissal one of these days. As for the 
other boy, when he has been here six months, if 
he remains that long, it will be time enough to 
discuss his promotion.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


There was nothing further to be said. Miss 
Mildred went back to her work greatly worried. 
She sent for Jeff on some pretext, and when he 
came to her desk she said in a low tone: 

“Jeff, what made you draw those dreadful 
pictures? Don’t speak so the others will hear 
you. I’ll use my ear trumpet.’’ 

Jeff laughed. “I don’t call ’em dreadful at 
all,’’ he said, saucily. “I calls ’em purty sim- 
ilix.’’ Then, quite suddenly, “How’d yeh know 
’bout ’em? Who showed ’em teh yeh?’’ 

“My Uncle Miles.’’ 

“Not the boss!’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“Where in time did he git ’em?’’ 

“Where did you leave them?’’ 

“I don’t jes’ ’member. I went off teh do 
somethin’, an’ clean fergot the hull blamed busi¬ 
ness. Oncet I looked fer ’em, but I didn’t find 
’em, an’ then I fergot, again.’’ 

“To whom did you show them?’’ 

“Nobody. ’’ 

“Jeff, what made you put a fool’s cap on your 
picture of Uncle Miles?’’ 

99 


lOO S/J? yEFFERSON NOBODT 

Jeff looked at Miss Mildred a moment, too 
astonished to speak; then, recovering himself, 
he said, impressively: 

“I never done no sech thing, so help me 
George Washington!” 

“But, Jeff, I saw it myself. Uncle Miles 
showed it to me.” 

‘‘I don’t keer if yeh did. I made the top o’ 
his head as bald as a turnip. It looked mighty 
funny,” and Jeff laughed at the recollection. 

“Didn’t you fix it over afterwards?” 

“Nop, nary a fix! I had teh git teh work. 
I’d fooled long ’nough!” 

“Well, there’s a fool’s cap on that picturenow.” 

“Is it drawed fit for shucks?” asked Jeff, 
earnestly. 

“Well enough so any one can tell what it is 
meant for. ” 

Jeff was silent a moment, standing with his 
eyes fixed on the floor. When he raised them. 
Miss Mildred saw that they blazed ominously. 

“Miss Mildred,” he said, “there ain’t but one 
chap out there what can draw anythin’ so’s it 
could be reckonized by its own mother. That 
feller fixed my picter, an’ showed it to the boss, 
an’ now I’m a-goin’ teh fix him.” 

“Wait, Jeff,” as the boy turned away; “don’t 
be rash. He may have added the cap just for 
fun, but you are not sure he showed the picture 
to my uncle.” 


SIJ^ JEFFERSON NOBODT loi 

“I’ll be sure afore I git done with him, an’ 
don’t yeh fergit it!’’ 

Jeff went into the outer room and straight up 
to the boy in question. 

“Bill,’’ he said, “I’m goin’ teh lick yeh un- 
marciful. Come on. Yeh can’t git out of it.’’ 

Bill turned very red in the face. “Mr. 
Leigh,’’ he said to the foreman, “do you hear 
what this feller is saying?” 

“We don’t allow fighting here, Jeff,” said the 
foreman. 

“Yeh can’t stop what yeh don’t see,” replied 
Jeff, audaciously. He was a favorite with Mr. 
Leigh, and he knew it, but he had never before 
presumed on that knowledge. “Jist go to 
t’other end o’ the shop a minnit, won’t yeh?” he 
added. 

“Why, what is the trouble between you and 
Billy?” 

“I drawed a picter of the boss an’ me one 
day, jes’ fer fun, an’ Bill got hold o’ it, an’ put a 
fool’s cap on it, an’ showed it to the boss as my 
doin’s. ” 

“For shame!” 

“Oh, for shame!” 

“Did you do that?” 

These and many similar exclamations from 
the other workmen followed the explanation. 

“It’s a lie,” said Bill “I didn’t do it. It’s 
every word a lie.” But he looked guilty. 


102 s/li y'EJ^jF'BJ^SOJV NOBODT 

“Well, boys,” said Mr. Leigh, severely, “you 
must settle this difficulty without fighting. I 
cannot have any such work around these prem¬ 
ises. Do you understand?” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Bill, with alacrity. 

Jeff made no reply. He had gone back to his 
work, and pretended not to hear. The next 
morning Bill put in an appearance in a badly 
bruised condition. It was evident that the 
fight had taken place, although not on the prem¬ 
ises, and that Bill had been severely punished 
for adding the cap to Jeff’s picture. The other 
workmen smiled when he entered the room, but 
made no comment. Such occasions among them 
were too common to attract more than momen¬ 
tary attention. But that was not to be the end 
of it. Jeff had made an enemy who would not 
hesitate to take any step, however underhanded 
it might be, to avenge himself in a way to suit 
his vindictive nature. 

It chanced that a few days later Miss Mildred 
was taken quite ill, and a new girl was hired in 
her place until she should be able to return. It 
was quite a source of grief to her that she was 
obliged to go before she had had the satisfaction 
of handing Paul the long-looked-for letter. Paul 
had ceased asking for it now. He only made an 
errand to the desk, and when he looked into 
Miss Mildred’s eyes she would smile but shake 
her head, and he would go on about his work. 


S/J^ yBFFERSOI\r NOBODT 103 

When the new girl took her place, Paul did 
not tell her that he expected a letter. She had 
worked for the firm for many years, although not 
in that capacity, and he had met her nearly every 
day, and had often gone on errands at her com¬ 
mand, but he did not like her very well, nor 
could he have told why. 

This girl, whose name was Stella James, had 
held her new position three days when it chanced 
that the mail carrier came into the office just as 
she was balancing her cash. Paul, who was 
hovering near, as usual, chanced to see his name 
on the very top letter of the pile the carrier had 
laid on the desk, and reaching his hand through 
the opening in the grating that surrounded the 
desk, he caught the precious missive, and 
started for the back office, where he could get 
away by himself. He felt that he must take one 
little peep at it, to make sure that Minnie was 
well. 

“See here,” exclaimed Stella, “don’t you 
know any better than that?” 

“The letter is mine,” said Paul, turning and 
holding it up. “See the address! I’ve been 
waiting for it so long.” 

“You could have waited another minute, and 
it’s against the rules for an underling to take 
anything from the desk, especially while I’m 
balancing the cash. How do I know but you 
helped yourself to some of the money?” 


104 JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“You know very well that I did not,” said 
Paul. “I wouldn’t be any more likely to do that 
than you would; indeed, I wouldn’t be half as 
likely to do it. ” 

With this parting shot Paul left the room. 

When the cash was balanced and the accounts 
made up for the day, it was found that a twenty- 
dollar gold piece was missing. 


CHAPTER XIV 


Investigation followed promptly upon discov¬ 
ery of the loss of the money, and it soon became 
evident to Paul that he was suspected of having 
stolen it. He was so angry at first that he could 
not speak. He turned red and white alternately, 
and looked so guilty that for a moment even Jeff 
was disposed to believe the charge a true one. 
He went to Paul, when the others were not look¬ 
ing, and in an undertone said: 

“If yeh made a mistake an’ took that there 
shiner, Paul, yeh’d better go, like a man, an’ 
tell the boss. ’’ 

“I didn’t take it, and haven’t seen it,’’ re¬ 
plied Paul, angrily. 

“Didn’t yeh see nothin’ but yer letter when 
yeh went teh the desk?’’ 

“I knew Stella was balancing her cash, but I 
didn’t notice anything further. I was so glad to 
see the letter that I didn’t think of anything 
else.’’ 

“I wish yeh hadn’t grabbed it from the 
desk.’’ 

“So do I, now; but I knew Stella wouldn’t give 
105 


lo6 SIE yEFJ^ERSON NOBODY 

it to me at once if I asked for it, and I felt as if 
I couldn’t wait a minute.” 

‘‘Does yeh know what Bill Bradley’s a-say- 
in’?” 

‘‘No, I don’t, and I don’t care.” 

When greatly worried over anything, Paul 
was inclined to be ill-tempered, which, of course, 
did not tend to help matters at all. But Jeff 
paid no attention to the somewhat rude reply. 

‘‘Bill says,” he went on, coolly, ‘‘as how he 
was watchin’ yeh when yeh opened yer letter, 
an’ he says yeh kep’ yer fingers closed, this here 
way, an’ opened it with yer thumb an’ fore¬ 
finger. He says he knowed as how yeh was 
holdin’ somethin’ in yer hand, but in course-” 

At this juncture the two boys were called be¬ 
fore their employer, and Jeff’s sentence was left 
unfinished. 

Bill Bradley was already there when they en¬ 
tered the room. There was a sneer on his face 
as he looked at the two boys, and when they 
came and stood beside him, he moved away, as 
if he could not endure too close contact. 

“Now, Bill,” said the employer, “you may 
repeat just what you have told me.” 

“I don’t say that Paul took that money,” he 
began, “and I don’t want him to feel that I bear 
him any ill-will. ” 

“Rats!” exclaimed Jeff, in a tone of disgust. 

“Silence, sir!” commanded their employer. 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 107 

Paul stood there silently. He was white to 
the lips, and shaking with a nervous chill, but he 
kept his eyes fixed steadily on Bill’s face. 

“When he came out into the storage room he 
was quite near to me,” continued Bill. “I saw 
him when he opened the letter, and noticed that 
he held something in his hand, like this, so that 
he used only the thumb and forefinger.” 

“Did you, Paul?” asked Mr. Leigh, who 
stood near Uncle Miles. 

“There was nothing in my hand so far as I 
know,” replied Paul, “and I don’t remember 
whether I used one or five fingers to open the 
letter. I might have been carrying the key to 
the chest of chemicals-” 

“Were you carrying the key?” asked Uncle 
Miles, sternly. 

“I can’t remember, sir. I was thinking of 
other things. I remember that I got the key to 
the closet about that time-” 

“I sent him there for something I wanted,” 
said Mr. Leigh, interrupting Paul. 

“Was it before the mail was delivered?” 

“I can’t remember. It was about that time. ” 

“Well,” to Bill, “go on with your story.” 

“I know,” continued Bill, “that Paul is very 
anxious to raise money to pay some debt for his 
little sister-” 

“How do you know that, you miserable cur, 
you!” interrupted Paul, as he sprang toward 




lo8 S/H JEFFERSON NOBODY. 

Bill. He was so angry that he did not know 
what he was doing, but his arm was raised 
threateningly, and he used so much strength 
that Mr. Leigh was forced to use considerable 
more in holding him. 

“Paul! Paul!” he exclaimed, “are you 
crazy?” 

“Take him away,” said Uncle Miles, sternly; 
“and when he is calm enough to listen tell him 
this: If that money is not restored by Saturday 
night, he is to consider himself dismissed. Tell 
the bookkeeper those are my orders. And now 
let that end the matter.” 

It was very evident that Paul’s employer con¬ 
sidered him guilty, and when the poor boy had 
become calm enough to realize his position he 
quietly took his hat and left the place, without 
waiting to collect what was due him or to finish 
the task he had begun. 

When Jeff reached the little shanty that 
night, he fully expected to find Paul awaiting 
him, and was worried beyond measure upon 
learning that he had not put in an appearance. 
He prepared supper hastily; then made the old 
man as comfortable as possible and started out. 

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

“Over teh see Miss Mildred,” was the reply. 
“Paul set great store by her, an’ mebbe he went 
teh see her. She’s sick. ” 

But Miss Mildred had not seen Paul nor had 


6‘/i? y^EI^J^EJ^SOJV NOBODT 109 

she heard a word about the difficulty at the office 
until Jeff told her. 

“What are you going to do now?” she asked, 
as Jeff arose to go. 

“Guess I’ll go teh the p’lice court, an’ git 
’em teh help find him. There’s no tollin’ what 
mought happen teh him, ’thout me, fer he don’t 
know nawthin’ ’bout city ways. That’s why I 
likes him, howsomever. ” 

“Jeff, tell me truly; do you feel quite sure 
that Paul did not take that money?” 

“What makes yeh ask that?” 

“Because I am certain from the way you have 
acted this evening that you have your doubts in 
the matter. You need not feel afraid to confide 
in me, for I like Paul, too. I like him very 
much, and I do not believe he is naturally dis¬ 
honest. But he may have been tempted-” 

“If the money had been tooken after he read 
that letter,” said Jeff, “I’d a ben mighty feared 
as how he took it. Yeh see, he wants his sister 
teh come an’ keep house fer him, an’ she won’t 
till the contract’s paid.” 

“The what?” asked Miss Mildred, looking 
puzzled. 

“The contract. A woman sold Paul an’ his 
sister teh a farmer till Paul come of age, an’ if 
they found their uncle, he was teh pay their 
board afore he tuk ’em away. Wa’al, Paul 
cleared out, ’cause the place got too hot teh 



no SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

hold him—lickin’s an’ sich, yeh know—an’ in 
course he had teh leave ’thout payin’ his board. 
His sister don’t want teh do that, an’ in the let¬ 
ter she said as how she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t 
read the letter when he went teh the desk.” 

“What is it, then, that makes you doubt 
him?” 

“I don’t doubt him. He says as how he 
didn’t take the money, an’ in course I b’lieve 
him. I’ve got teh, or I can’t help him; but 
there’s things I wish he hadn’t done.” 

‘‘What, for instance?” 

“Wa’al, I ruther think as how he’d orter 
stayed an’ tuk the lickin’s, seein’ as his leetle 
sister couldn’t git out o’ takin’ ’em.” 

“I presume he thought he could help her get 
away sooner by coming to find work.” 

“Yis, he said so,” replied Jeff, eagerly, “an’ 
I tries teh jes’ think o’ that part o’ it; but in 
times like this, t’other part keeps cornin’ up. 
The devil’s the one teh blame. He’s a-temptin’ 
me ter fergit as how I am a ’ristercrat, an’ above 
meannesses sich as that.” 

“But there must have been something else,” 
said Miss Mildred, questibningly. “I want to 
know everything about it, in order to be able to 
form a correct opinion.” 

‘‘T’other’s a leetle thing. I’d a forgot it 
long ago, if the devil had only ben shot, as he 
ought teh be! Yeh see, that ole King George o’ 


6’//? JEFFERSON NOBODT ill 

mine is a queer cove, an’ he ’magines he’s a in¬ 
ventor, an’ that he’s a-gittin’ up a scrumptious 
patent as is a-goin’ teh make him a millionaire, 
an’ that somebody’s a-goin’ teh steal it away 
from him, an’ so he don’t want anybody teh go 
into his room. Wa’al, Paul said once as how 
he’d like teh git inteh it, when the poor ol’ chap 
didn’t know nawthin’ ’bout it.” 

“Oh, that may have been Paul’s fun.” 

“Half-way fun, mebbe,” replied Jeff, doubt- 
ingly. “I’m afeard, howsomever, he’d a-gone 
if I hadn’t guv him teh understan’ as how it 
wouldn’t be healthy.” 

“How did you make him understand?” asked 
Miss Mildred, much amused. 

“Oh, jes’ mind-readin’. ” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I looks what I thinks ’bout ’em,” replied 
Jeff, carelessly, as if that were a very common 
and effective method of administering reproof, 
“an’ I don’t say nawthin’.” 

“Well, even if Paul had allowed his curios¬ 
ity to lead him into the forbidden chamber, it 
would not have been criminal,” argued Miss 
Mildred. 

“Course ’twouldn’t; but sich things come teh 
talk ’gainst a feller when he’s in trouble, an’ 
they alus will, till some one comes ’long who’s 
strong ’nough teh wipe up the earth with the 
devil.” 


112 SII? JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

Miss Mildred laughed, although she was quite 
sure she ought to look horrified. 

“Well, Jeff,” she said, as the boy placed his 
hand on the door knob, “I don’t see as you have 
made out a very clear case against Paul.” 

“Miss Mildred! Yeh don’t think as how I’ve 
been tryin’ teh do that?” 

Jeff’s eyes had grown large and luminous, 
and his face wore a look of anxiety. 

“Why, no. You’ve been trying not to. I’m 
sure you can put all those doubts away so far as 
Paul is concerned. He may make many mis- 
takes'—we all do—he may do wrong many times, 
but he’ll never do anything dishonest. I’m as 
sure of that as I can ever be of anything.” 

“An’ me, too!” replied Jeff, promptly. “I 
guess I’ve been sure all ’long, but I hain’t 
never said so afore, loud ’nough for the devil 
teh hear, so he kep’ hammerin’ away at me. I 
hope he’ll know ’nough to mind his own business 
now! Good-bye. I’ll let yeh know if I find 
Paul.” 


CHAPTER XV 


Spring had come, and everybody in the 
Staples farmhouse was very busy. Mrs. 
Staples was now able to be about the house, al¬ 
though she limped badly, and had to walk very 
carefully. It had been a hard winter for Minnie, 
and she was pale and thin, with great dark cir¬ 
cles around her eyes. She looked much older 
than she really was, and so delicate that even 
Mrs. Staples was somewhat worried about her. 

“Yeh’ve hed it hard this winter, Minnie,” 
she said, quite suddenly one day, “an’ yeh’re 
lookin’ peaked. I’d’a’ made it easier if I could. ” 

“You are not to blame, because we could get 
no one to come and help,” replied Minnie, 
brightly. “The work has been a little hard for 
me, but we’ve had real nice times reading to¬ 
gether. ” 

“That made time pass faster,” said Mrs. 
Staples, “but you did the readin’, an’ yeh didn’t 
git teh go teh school, as I meant teh have yeh. 
When the garden is in I’ll try to let yeh go part 
o’ the time, ’tany rate, an’ yeh kin have a flower 
bed this year--” 

“Oh, can I have flowers?” exclaimed the de- 



114 S/I? yEFF'EJ^SON NOBOD r 

lighted child. “I’ve always wanted them. And 
can I choose what I want?’’ 

“I guess yeh kin,’’ replied the woman, smil¬ 
ing. “Staples brought home a catylogue yister- 
day jes’ a-purpose.’’ 

She produced the catalogue from behind the 
clock, where she had hidden it, and gave it to 
Minnie. 

“Does he want me to have flowers, too?’’ said 
Minnie. “How good you both are to me.” 

“Yeh’ve ben a purty decent youngun yer- 
self,’’ replied Mrs. Staples. “That’s why.” 

It was the highest praise Mrs. Staples had 
ever given any one, and she looked really em¬ 
barrassed while offering it. She almost felt as if 
it were an indication of weakness. 

The feeling Mrs. Staples had come to have for 
Minnie during the past winter was the nearest to 
love of any the poor woman was ever known to 
experience. And even Mr. Staples was obliged 
to admit that “the pesky leetle gal had a power¬ 
ful way o’ gettin’ ’round a feller.’’ 

“May I have more than one kind?’’ asked 
Minnie, seating herself on the old couch and 
eagerly scanning the pages of the gayly illus¬ 
trated catalogue. 

“Staples says yeh kin have fifty cents’ worth 
o’ seeds.’’ 

“Fifty cents’ worth! Why, Mrs. Staples, 
that will make, oh, such a big garden!’’ 


s/7? yET^J^BUSOTV NOBODT I15 

“He says he’ll plow and harrer the groun’ 
fer yeh.” 

“Isn’t he good? Mrs. Staples, I love him! I 
really do!’’ 

“Nonsense! Git teh choosin’ them seeds, 
fer Staples is goin’ teh town teh-morrer, an’ he 
wants teh git ’em then.’’ 

Minnie got her pencil and a bit of brown 
paper, and for fully two hours she was the busi¬ 
est and the happiest little girl to be found any¬ 
where. Mrs. Staples watched her furtively, and 
was pleased, but she could not understand how 
the prospect of doing so much extra work as a 
flower garden would entail could bring such joy 
to any one. As for herself, she was sure that 
nothing would please her so well as to have her 
work all done, for once, and know that there 
were five hundred dollars in the bank in her own 
name. 

Minnie had not finished making out her list 
when she was interrupted by the entrance of 
Farmer Staples and a stranger. 

“This is the gal,’’ said the farmer, gruffly, as 
he jerked his thumb in Minnie’s direction. 

Minnie glanced up, startled, and her eyes 
rested on a tall, kindly-faced gentleman who 
looked so much as her father had that for a mo¬ 
ment her heart seemed to stop beating. 

“My dear little niece!’’ said the gentleman, 
holding out both hands. 


Ii6 S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“Oh, is it Uncle John?” asked Minnie, 
springing forward. 

“It is Uncle John,” he replied, tenderly, 
gathering the little girl in his arms. Minnie 
broke into a violent fit of weeping, and hid her 
face on his shoulder. It seemed almost like 
having papa again, yet it was not the same, and 
she could not have told whether she was crying 
because she was so glad to have Uncle John or 
so sorry not to have papa. For a moment or 
more she was so completely overcome as to be 
quite oblivious of what was taking place around 
her. Then she was aroused by Uncle John’s 
voice, which was very stern and not pleasant to 
hear. 

“You ought to be prosecuted,” he was say¬ 
ing, “for treating a child so. Look at this rag¬ 
ged sleeve on this poor little skeleton of an arm. 
Where are her flannels? She should not be with¬ 
out them during this changeable weather!” 

“Poor folks can’t buy flannels,” said Farmer 
Staples. “I ain’t never had none an* neither 
has the ole woman, an’ we hain’t killed fer 
want o’ ’em. ” 

“Do you mean to say this child has never 
worn flannels?” 

“Sich things wasn’t in the contract.” 

“I am told that you agreed to treat her as if 
she were your own-” 

“And so they have. Uncle John,” replied 




MRS. STAPLES WATCHED HER FURTIVELY. 
















































































































S/Ji yEFI^EI^SOJV NOBODT 117 

Minnie, eagerly. “I know lots of people who 
don’t buy flanpels for their children. They 
can’t afford them. And I haven’t been very 
cold. They’ve tried to be good to me, Uncle 
John, and they are going to let me have a nice 
flower garden this summer, and Mr. Staples says 
he’ll plow and harrow it for me; and oh. Uncle 
John, I just love them both!” 

Uncle John looked at his niece in astonish¬ 
ment. 

“You must have a most forgiving nature,” 
he said, softly. “You are like your father, I 
fancy. You look like him.” 

“Do I?” Minnie smiled happily. “I’m very 
glad,” she said; “but Paul looks more like him. 
Paul used to say he would never have to be la¬ 
beled ‘Hawthorne’ in order to be recognized, 
while I would.” 

“And Paul’s not here,” said Uncle John. 
“I don’t blame the boy for running away. I 
heard all about it from the good woman who 
tried to befriend you.” 

“Aunt Cassie. I love her so very much.” 

“You love a great many people, seems to me. 
Pussy,” said Uncle John, pinching her ear. “Are 
you going to be ready in an hour to go home 
with me? I want a little of your love, my dear. ” 

“But the contract. Uncle John! Are you rich 
enough to buy it? I couldn’t go away unless 
Mr. and Mrs. Staples were paid-” 



Il8 S/B JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“They don’t deserve-’’ began Uncle John, 

savagely. 

“Oh, please, uncle, don’t say that! They’re 
very poor, and they do work so hard, and their 
crops failed last year; besides it’s right for them 
to be paid. ’’ 

Uncle John kissed Minnie, then put her down 
and took a paper from his pocket. It was the 
duplicate copy of the contract that had been in 
Aunt Cassie’s possession. 

“Mr. Staples,’’ he said, “if you will make out 
your bill I will settle with you for my niece’s 
board.’’ 

“And Paul’s, too,’’ said Minnie. “Please 
make everything right, so we shall not have to 
feel ashamed.’’ 

“Miss Minnie, do you imagine that I’m made 
of money?’’ asked Uncle John, trying to look 
stern, but succeeding poorly, for he had quite 
fallen in love with his little niece. 

“I think you do not look very poor,’’ she 
answered, saucily. “Besides, it is what papa 
would do, and he said you would be a father to 
us.’’ 

“Poor brother! You must tell me all about 
him when we get home.’’ 

“What made you so long in coming. Uncle 
John?’’ 

“I did not get your father’s letter. I was 
traveling abroad. The letter finally reached me 


S/jR JEFFERSON NOBODT 119 

just as I was starting for Algiers. It had fol¬ 
lowed me half around the world.*’ 

“That is why Paul did not find you.” 

“That is one reason. The other is that I 
never lived in Minneapolis, where Aunt Cassie 
sent him. Years ago I lived in St. Paul, but for 
a long time my home has been in Chicago. Min¬ 
neapolis and St. Paul are so close together that 
they are called the‘Twin Cities.’ Aunt Cassie 
got them mixed, and sent Paul to the wrong 
twin.” 

“Can we find Paul right away?” 

“Oh, yes. I know the firm for whom he 
works; but we won’t see him in a week unless 
you hurry up and get yourself ready.” 

While the above conversation was going on 
between Minnie and her uncle, Mr. and Mrs. 
Staples were in another part of the room deep in 
a conversation as to the proper amount to charge 
Mr. Hawthorne. Mrs. Staples was of the opinion 
that they really ought not to charge anything for 
Minnie’s board, as she had been so much help to 
them during the past winter. But Mr. Staples 
reminded her that they were to be deprived of 
many more years of her labor, to which they 
were justly entitled, and that, in consequence, 
they should have more compensation. 

When this view of the matter was presented 
to Mr. Hawthorne he replied tartly: “You can 
get other poor unfortunates who will, perhaps. 


120 


S/J? yEJ^J^ERSOJV NOBODr 


Stand your abuse better. I feel like having you 
arrested when I look at the pinched features of 
that little girl upstairs. But give me your bill. 
She seems to have some affection for you, and 
for her sake I will not quarrel with you.” 

It was finally decided that the children should 
be released from their contract on the payment 
of a hundred dollars, and Mr. Hawthorne 
promptly laid five twenty-dollar gold pieces on 
the table. At this moment Minnie entered the 
room. She had on her best gown—a cheap cot¬ 
ton and wool in gaudy plaids, made with a view 
to fitting her a year or so hence, when she should 
be much larger. Over this was worn a cape 
made from an old overcoat that had been given 
to Aunt Cassie by a town friend for whom she 
had sewed. On her head was a cap made of red 
cashmere, with three white feathers on one side. 
This, too, was Aunt Cassie’s work, and it was so 
becoming that few would stop to consider how 
cheap it was. Minnie was very proud of it, and 
more especially of the three white feathers that 
had come from the wing of one of her pet tur¬ 
keys. 

“What is that?” asked Uncle John, pointing 
to a bundle Minnie carried. 

“These are my clothes,” answered Minnie, 
innocently. 

“You put on the best you had, did you not?” 


sm yEFFERSON NOBODT 121 

with a critical look at the little figure in the 
baggy dress. 

“Yes, sir;” then with a painful blush, “don’t 
I look well enough to go with you?” 

“Oh, yes, indeed, child! You’re all right, 
and that cap is charming. But you might as well 
leave the rest of your things here. I can buy 
all you need, and Mrs. Staples can use these for 
the next little girl she takes.” There was a 
touch of sarcasm in the words that Minnie did 
not notice, for her mind was suddenly filled with 
a new trouble. 

“But papa’s books. Uncle John! Oh, I can’t 
leave papa’s books!” 

“Where are they? How many are there? Of 
course, we shall not leave them.” 

The books were found carefully packed in the 
father’s trunk. Mr. Staples was hired to take 
them to the station, for there was not room for 
the trunk in the light carriage Mr. Hawthorne 
had hired to come to the Staples farm from the 
railroad station. 

“Well, child, we must hurry now, or we shall 
be too late for the train.” 

Minnie turned and went up to Mr. Staples. 

“Good-bye,” she said, holding out her hand, 
“I thank you for giving me a home when I had 
nowhere else to go, and please don’t let Mrs. 
Staples work too hard.” 


122 S/B yEFI^EI^SON NOBODr 

After shaking hands with the gruff old farmer, 
she ran to his wife and threw both arms around 
her neck. 

“Good-bye,” she said, kissin.g her on each 
cheek. “Don’t work hard until you’re quite 
strong, and do be careful not to get hurt again, 
because I shan’t be here to take care of you.” 

“I shall miss you, Minnie, I shall for a fact,” 
said the woman, breaking down and sobbing bit¬ 
terly. Her husband looked on in amazement. 
It was the first time he had ever seen her shed 
tears. 

“I know it,” replied Minnie, simply, “and I 
shall think of you very often. Perhaps Uncle 
John will let me come and see you some time. I 
know I shall want to, and oh, I’m glad he didn’t 
come to get me before we had learned to love 
each other!” 

There were more kisses given in an impulsive, 
childish fashion that was pretty to see, and then 
the Staples home had suddenly grown dark, for 
the only ray of sunshine that had ever made it 
bright had gone out of it forever. 


CHAPTER XVI 


“Where do you think this boy can be found?” 
asked one of the several policemen who listened 
to Jeff’s story, which he told at the police office 
soon after leaving Miss Mildred. 

“Like’s not he’ll be tryin’ teh git inter the 
cars,” replied Jeff. “He hain’t got much 
money, though.” 

“Think he’ll try to steal a ride?” 

“P’raps. He’s a mighty proud cove, an’ 
he’ll hate ev’rybody who knows as how he’s 
ben ’cused o’ stealin’. He’ll wanter git where 
he can’t see ’em ag’in. He’s one what ud 
ruther git away from things what he don’t like 
than stay an’ fight ’em.” 

“You’d stay and fight them, I suppose?” 

“You bet I would! Wa’al, if yeh’regoin’ teh 
help me, hadn’t yeh better be gittin’ a hustle on 
yeh?” 

The officers laughed. 

“We haven’t seen the color of your cash yet,” 
they replied, teasingly. “We don’t work with¬ 
out pay. ” 

“Nor with it, either,” replied Jeff, saucily; 

123 


124 


S/I? JEFFERSON NOBODT 


“that is teh say, any great sight! S’pose I 
don’t know as how the city pays yeh, when I’m 
one o’ the city? I’m a child o’ fortune, I’d hev 
yeh know; a reg’lar 'ristercrat, drawin’ his three 
thousand dollars every week.’’ 

“You look like it,’’ replied one of the officers, 
with a glance at Jeff’s coat. 

“Huh, yeh’re a bright one, hain’t yeh!’’ ex¬ 
claimed Jeff, with a fine air of disdain. “Don’t 
yeh know as how a chap in my position can dress 
as he pleases? It’s only middle-class fellers like 
you as has teh follow the fashion. Whatever I 
do is all right, ’cause I’m a born child o’ for¬ 
tune.’’ 

“Well, my lad, it’s getting pretty late, and 
you have a long walk before you,’’ said an 
officer, kindly. “We’ll try to keep your friend 
from leaving the city without your permission; 
but for the life of me I can’t see why you don’t 
want him to go. I should call it good riddance 
to pretty poor rubbish.’’ 

“That’s ’cause yeh don’t know Paul,’’ replied 
Jeff, stoutly, as he left the room. 

When Jeff got outside he turned into an alley, 
and, making a low bow in the darkness to some 
imaginary being, delivered himself of the follow¬ 
ing somewhat remarkable speech: 

“Mr. Devil, I’ve beat yeh this time, fair and 
square, an’ now I hopes yeh’ll ten’ teh yer own 
bizness, an’ let me alone. From this on teh 


S/B yEBBEBSOJV NOBODT 125 

ferever an’ ever I’m jes’ as good a friend teh 
Paul as I sh’d want him teh be teh me, an’ don’t 
yeh fergit it. When a nobleman guvs his 
word fer anythin’, it’s guv fer keeps, an’ don’t 
yeh fergit that, either. Now, ol’ Devil, good¬ 
bye; I’m goin’ ter the cars myself. Them 
p’licemen don’t ’mount teh shucks when it comes 
teh savin’ boys with achin’ hearts, an’ I hain’t 
a-goin’ teh trust ’em.” 

It was well for Paul that Jeff arrived at this 
decision. He had been wandering around one 
of the parks of the city ever since he had left 
the place where he worked, vainly trying to see 
what he should do next. He felt as if he could 
never again face one of the people who could be¬ 
lieve him capable of taking the least thing that 
did not belong to him. He could not understand 
how any intelligent person could doubt his inno¬ 
cence. It was so very different from any trouble 
he had ever dreamed of as coming to an honor¬ 
able boy that it bewildered him, and made it al¬ 
most impossible for him to come to any sane 
conclusion. His one idea was that nowhere else 
in the world could there be such mean people as 
there were in Minneapolis, and that he should 
never be happy again until he had gone to some 
place entirely different. With that thought in 
mind, he was making his way to the Union 
Depot, with the hope that he might persuade the 
official in the baggage car to take him to Chi- 


126 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


cago, when he felt a friendly hand on his shoul¬ 
der, and heard Jeff’s voice in his ear. 

“Paul,” he said, “I’m so glad teh find yeh. 
Le’s get back to the villa afore somethin’ hap¬ 
pens teh King George.” 

Paul turned almost fiercely. “I’m not going 
back,” he said. “I’m going to get away from 
this city forever. I hate it, and everyone in it.” 

Jeff took Paul by the arm, and drew him 
away. “Come over here,” he said, “where we 
kin talk it over till the next train comes. But 
yeh’re foolish, Paul. It’s jes’ givin’ everybody 
a chance teh say as how it’s all true, an’ yeh had 
teh run away. ” 

“What do I care what they say? They’re all 
a pack of fools. ” 

“Yeh care a heap, or yeh wouldn’t be run- 
nin’ away. Paul, that’s the one thing ’bout yeh 
I don’t like—yer runnin’ away. Why don’t yeh 
stay an’ face the music?” 

“It don’t make a particle of difference, now, 
what you think,” said Paul, moodily; but in the 
light of the lamp hanging over their heads, Jeff 
could see that his lips quivered, and that he was 
having hard work to control himself. 

“I don’t b’lieve yeh, Paul,” he said, gravely. 
“I’d feel wusser’n I ever did in my life if I 
knowed yeh didn’t care what I thunk about yeh. 
I care a mighty lot what you think ’bout me.” 

“Jeff, if everybody in the world should come 


SIJi JEFFERSON NOBODT 


127 


to me and accuse you of stealing, I wouldn’t be¬ 
lieve it even for a minute. And you did believe 
it of me. You needn’t try to deny it, for I saw 
it in your eyes, and I have learned to read them 
well. You did believe I took that money, and 
I hate you worse than all the rest put together! 
I want to go away where I’ll never see you 
again.” 

‘‘Paul, a nobleman never denies what’s true, 
an’ I hain’t a-goin’ teh say as how I didn’t hev 
a sneakin’ doubt in my mind; but it didn’t stay 
long, an’ it’s gone fer good.” 

“You had no business to think such a thing 
for a minute! You ought to have known better. ” 

“That’s a fac’. I feel terrible meachin’ 
’bout it, Paul, an’ I wish yeh could fergit it. 
Yeh see, I didn’t stop teh think as how ev’ry- 
body can’t see things jes’ alike. I blamed yeh 
’cause yeh left yer sister, yet I ’spects yer did 
nearer right than I should, an’ now I know as 
how yeh wouldn’t go inteh George’s room no 
more’n I would; but I had my doubts ’bout it 
oncet, an’ all them things-” 

“I don’t want to hear anything more about 
it,” interrupted Paul, wearily. “I’ll get over it 
after a while, I guess.” 

“Won’t yeh come back with me?” asked Jeff, 
wistfully. 

“No, I can’t. That old man would be sure to 
believe every word of it, and I should hate him. 



128 6'/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

I want to go away from you and everybody else. 
Take care of my things until I call for them-” 

“When’ll that be?’’ 

“I don’t know. When I can prove that there 
is some one in the world who can trust me.” 

“How much does the boss owe yeh, Paul?” 

“Three dollars. He can keep it as interest 
on the twenty dollars that I never saw. I’d 
starve before I’d ask for it.” 

“Won’t yeh tell me where yeh’re goin’?” 

“No. I don’t want you to know. Besides, 
I don’t know myself. I’ll ride with the first man 
that will take me. I don’t want to stay here an¬ 
other night. ” 

“Wa’al, good-bye, Paul. Won’t yeh shake? 
I’ve got teh go back teh Georgy, but I’ll miss 
yeh onmarciful. ” 

Paul put out his hand in a hesitating sort of 
way, and Jeff took it in a warm grasp, then, 
without a word, hastily disappeared in the dark¬ 
ness. 

Paul was so astonished at his sudden disap¬ 
pearance that it was several seconds before he 
realized that he was holding something in his 
hand. Upon looking at it in the light he discov¬ 
ered that it was the five-dollar gold piece that 
Jeff had been paid the day before. Pay was due 
him for two weeks’ work, and he had been given 
one dollar in silver and that five-dollar gold 
piece. 



S/Ji yEI^FEJaSOJV NOBODT 


129 


He had displayed the latter with the trium¬ 
phant announcement that it was his reward for 
having saved the life of the sultan’s daughter! 
Not ten minutes before receiving it he had 
rushed into the street and picked up an old apple 
woman who had fallen on the icy pavement, and 
when he had displayed the five-dollar gold piece 
as his “reward,” there was a general laugh over 
his nonsense. 

Paul smiled now as he thought of it. 

“What a boy he is,” he said aloud; then, 
with a sudden remembrance, “but he had no 
right to think for a minute that I would take 
that money. He couldn’t have thought so, had 
he been a true friend to me. And now what 
shall I do with it?” 

After nearly an hour’s deliberation Paul went 
into a store and wrote the following: 

One year after date I promise to pay to Sir Jeffer¬ 
son Nobody, or ‘Jeff,’ as he is called, the sum of five 
dollars, with ten per cent interest. Paul Hawthorne. 

Paul mailed this, without a word of explana¬ 
tion, addressing it in care of Miss Mildred, then 
took the electric car and went to St. Paul. After 
paying his fare he had five dollars and thirty 
cents with which to begin life again. 

Jeff returned to his home with a very heavy 
heart. He had not known before how much he 
liked Paul, and how pleasant it had been to him 
to have a companion near his own age. 


130 S/Ji NOBOD r 

“Georgy,” he said, when he had told the 
whole story to the old man, “there’s a awful 
warnin’ in it fer you an’ me.” 

His companion looked at him, inquiringly. 

“Yeh can’t let the devil fool ’round without 
payin’ fer it. Now, I gave the ol’ chap his 
walkin’ papers, an’ b’lieved that was the end of 
it; but ’twant, yeh see. I had teh take my 
med’cine, jes’ the same.” 

“Do you call Paul’s leaving your medicine?” 

Jeff nodded assent, and bent himself to the 
task of unlacing the old man’s shoes. 

“Well, I should call it pretty good medicine. 
Why, lad, think of it! The boy was out of work, 
and you would have had him to support! It 
isn’t easy for a boy to get work in the winter 
time, and more especially when he has been ac¬ 
cused of stealing. I have a better opinion of 
him, now that he has shown that he had sense 
enough to take himself off your hands, than I 
have ever had before.” 

“But oh, Georgy, Georgy! I liked him! An’ 
I don’t hev many folks teh like, an’ he liked 
me.” 

Jeff let his head droop on the old man’s knee. 
He was as near crying as he had ever been since 
the far-away days of babyhood, which he could 
not remember. The old man’s lips were closely 
compressed, and he laid a trembling hand on the 
bowed head. 


S/R JEFFERSON NOBOD T 131 

“Laddie,” he said, “you’re not so lonely as 
all that?” It was the first time the old man had 
ever called him that, and the tone went right to 
Jeff’s heart. 

“Yes,” he replied, raising his head and look¬ 
ing defiantly at the old man, as if he dared any 
one to say there were tears in his eyes. “I’m 
that lonely that I ache way inside o’ me! Oh, 
Georgy, I want some folks o’ my very own!” 

“Well, won’t I do?” 

“Georgy, I’m a sneak! There hain’t nothin’ 
’ristercratic ’bout me, nothin’ whatsomever! 
Here I’ve been a child o’ fortune ever since I 
found you an’ this splendiferous ol’ castle, an’ 
yit I’m a-snivelin’ ’cause a brother or two wa’nt 
thrown in! Come on, yeh ought teh been in bed 
hours ago!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


Three days had passed since Minnie left the 
Staples farmhouse. They had been wonderful 
days, a greater part of which had been spent in 
a fine hotel in Minneapolis, where Minnie was 
taken in charge by a nice, motherly woman, who 
proceeded to “deck her out in style,” according 
to her uncle’s instructions. 

“She must be made ready to go to her aunt in 
Naples at a moment’s notice,” he said. 

“Without Paul?” asked Minnie anxiously. 

“Of course not. Pussy. I shall be hunting 
for Paul while your pretty dresses are being 
made for yoq. Just get what she’ll need at 
present, Mrs. Fiske. Her aunt is, without 
doubt, preparing more than any little girl can 
possibly wear. She is more than delighted to 
have a little girl to mother.” 

“Have you no children?” asked Mrs. Fiske. 

“Yes, indeed,” with great promptness. “I 
have a fine niece, and I shall soon, I hope, intro¬ 
duce you to a fine nephew. Haven’t seen him 
yet. We didn’t have any children until my 
brother’s letter reached me. Now we hold our 
heads pretty high, I tell you.” 

132 


SIJ? yEF'J^ERSON NO BOOT 133 

Minnie came up behind him, threw her arms 
around his neck and printed a noisy kiss on his 
cheek. He had a way of starting as if shot, 
when she gave him a loud kiss, and of rubbing 
the affected place very tenderly; then how he 
would struggle to prevent her from doing it 
again! Minnie enjoyed the fun immensely, and 
planned ways of taking him by surprise. It had 
been so long since she had dared to play, or had 
any one to play with, that she had quite forgot¬ 
ten how much fun there was in a romp until this 
elderly uncle with a boy’s heart came into her 
life. Already she looked very different from the 
pale little girl he had found in the Staples farm¬ 
house. Her history soon became known in the 
hotel, and before she had been there twenty- 
four hours she had made friends of so many peo¬ 
ple that she was quite confused. She was so 
quiet and well-bred, and then she had such a 
warm personal friendship with so many favorite 
characters in fiction, that she was really a most 
interesting as well as lovable little personage. 

“Did you hear what that child said to me this 
morning?” asked Mrs. Fiske of a friend. “She 
said she thought Romola must be a very nice 
lady, but somehow she couldn’t get well ac¬ 
quainted with her; but she knew Dinah so well 
that she often played she was her mother.” 

“You don’t mean to say that that child reads 
George Eliot’s works?” 


134 JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“She knows them better than I do myself!” 

“It’s shameful! She ought to be reading 
children’s stories-” 

“She knows ‘The Lady of the Lake’ almost 
by heart. She says she and her brother used to 
act it.” 

“How old is she?” 

“Fourteen years, I think.” 

“She doesn’t look ten. She is such a childish 
little thing. ” 

“She is very small of her age, and when 
something new is bought for her, or when she is 
pleasantly surprised, she shows her pleasure in a 
very childish manner; but if you’ll notice her 
face in repose you will see that it is much too 
serious for a girl of her age.” 

While her two new friends were discussing 
her, Minnie was riding in a closed carriage with 
her uncle towards the outskirts of the city. 

“It seems,” her uncle was saying, “that 
Paul left his place some time ago, and his em¬ 
ployers have not heard from him since. This 
boy of whom Paul wrote you is at home to-day, 
caring for some member of his family who is 
sick, and we are now going out to see him. J 
hope he can tell us something about Paul.” 

“Paul lived with him,” said Minnie, “and I 
think he liked him. Oh, uncle, if this boy 
doesn’t know where Paul is, what shall we do?” 

“We’ll get help elsewhere. When a man as 



S/J? JEFFERSON NOBODT 135 

old as I am and a bright little girl like you start 
out to find any one there is no such word as fail, 
you know.” 

“Is this the place?” asked the driver, stop¬ 
ping the team before the door. 

“I don’t know. We’ll see. Driver, please 
ask if a boy named Jeff lives here.” 

The driver knocked on the door with his 
whip, and it was opened by a pleasant-faced 
boy, with a shock of curly auburn hair, and 
dressed in a suit that ought to have been re¬ 
placed by a new one some time ago. 

“Does a boy named Jeff live here?” asked 
the driver. 

“A ’ristercrat named Sir Jefferson Nobody 
lives here. What kin I do fer yeh?” 

“Oh, uncle, please let me get out! I want to 
see the place where Paul lived.” 

“May we come in, my lad?” asked Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne, pleasantly. 

“If yeh won’t stay long. King George hain’t 
feelin’ jes’ right, an’ too much company might 
hurt him. ” 

“I am Paul’s Uncle John,” said Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne, as he led Minnie into the room, “and 
this is his little sister. We are trying to find 
him, and hoped you might help us.” 

The bottom had come out from one of the 
three chairs in the room, but Jeff quickly placed 
it beside another that stood near the stove, then 


136 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

he placed a board across them both, and threw 
an old blanket over them. 

“Take this here sofy,“ he said, waving his 
hand toward the seat thus improvised, with a 
very royal air. “Don’t be afraid yer clothes’ll 
spile it,’’ as the guests hesitated. “I won’t have 
nothin’ in this castle too good fer everyday use. ’’ 

“Are you suffering greatly, sir?’’ asked Mr. 
Hawthorne of the old man who sat with his 
fingers spread over the stove. 

“No,’’ was the reply, given in so surly a 
manner that Mr. Hawthorne wisely decided to 
ask him no more questions. 

“Did yeh git more’n one letter from Paul?’’ 
asked Jeff of Minnie. 

“No, he only wrote once. I kept hoping he 
had sent a letter to Aunt Cassie and that she was 
waiting for a chance to send it to me. Don’t 
you know where he is?’’ 

“Nop. I wish’t I did. He went off feelin’ 
as if I wasn’t much of a feller, an’ he wouldn’t 
tell me where he was goin’. I guess he was 
feared I would foller him, an’ he didn’t want 
nothin’ more teh do with me.’’ 

“I hardly think that,’’ replied Minnie. “He 
wrote to me as if he liked you.’’ 

“He did oncet.’’ 

Then Jeff told the whole story, adding, “In 
course I don’t blame him, for I hadn’t oughter 
doubted him. I’m sorry now, but I’d done any- 


S/J? ^EI^'J^EJ^SON NOBODr 137 

thin’ fer him if he’d only bin willin’ teh try teh 
fergit. ” 

“Do you think he left the city?” 

“Yes. He said as how he was a-goin’ to Chi- 
cagy; but I don’t know if he did or didn’t. I 
can’t seem teh believe he went so fur, ’cause he 
didn’t take his things, an’ he set great store by 
’em. ” 

“What things?” 

“A Bible an’ picter an’-” 

“Oh, uncle, it was mamma’s Bible! Get the 
things, please, Jeff, and let me take them with 
me. ” 

“I can’t do it,” replied Jeff, seriously. “’Cause 
Paul telled me teh keep ’em fur him—keep ’em 
till he called fur ’em, an’ you hain’t got a writ¬ 
ten order from him.” 

“I think in this case a written order might be 
dispensed with,” said Mr. Hawthorne. 

“I don’t,” interrupted Jeff, promptly. “I 
hain’t takin’ anybody’s word when it comes teh 
takin’ care o’ Paul’s prop’ty. Yeh mought be 
his folks, and then ag’in yeh moughtn’t. ” 

“Well, Minnie, we must go now. I want to 
see what the police department can do for us.” 

“Jeff,” said Minnie, “I wish you could come 
to the hotel to see me. I want to have a long 
talk with you about Paul. Won’t you come?” 

“I mought if King George gits better. He’s 
doin’ well now, an’ I mought come ter-morrer 


138 sm yEFI^ERSOM NOBOD r 

night; but my toggery hain’t jes’ in style an’ my 
tailor’s got a gallopin’ consumption what’s took 
him teh Italy. ” 

Minnie laughed. “I don’t care about the 
clothes,” she said. ‘‘I’ll not look at them, and 
they’re as good as mine were before Uncle John 
found me; so be sure to come.” 

‘‘All right. How’ll I find yeh?” 

Mr. Hawthorne gave him the name of the 
hotel where they were staying, and then Jeff’s 
guests took their departure. 

“What made you look so funny. Uncle John?” 
asked Minnie, when they were started for their 
hotel. 

“Funny! When?” 

“When I asked Jeff to come to see me. Did 
I do wrong?” 

“Oh, no. I presume I smiled to think how 
some of the ladies there would regard his ‘tog¬ 
gery,’ as he called it!” 

“They wouldn’t laugh at him, would they? 
Because if they would, I shouldn’t like them very 
well.” 

“You’re a dear little girl, and we’ll try and 
fix things so your guest can visit with you com¬ 
fortably. ” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


To have seen Jeff stalk into the fashionable 
hotel where Mr. Hawthorne was staying with his 
niece, one who did not know him would have 
been inclined to take him for a nobleman’s son 
masquerading for his own amusement. 

He had the air of one so accustomed to the 
good things of life that they were never noticed, 
except when their absence caused him discom¬ 
fort; while the laughing eyes made one feel that 
there must be a good joke somewhere. 

He walked straight to the clerk. 

“Will yeh tell Miss Hawthorne as how Sir Jef¬ 
ferson Nobody has arriv?’’ 

The clerk stared at him in undisguised amaze¬ 
ment. Several gentlemen who stood near 
laughed aloud. 

“Mose,” said the clerk, in his haughtiest 
tones, motioning to a negro, “show this kid the 
door, and see that he doesn’t help himself to 
anything on the way out.’’ 

Mose came toward Jeff, expecting him to take 
the hint and go; but Jeff only looked at him 
inquiringly. 


139 


140 S/H JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“Come on,” said Mose. 

“Are yeh speakin’ teh me?” asked Jeff. 

“Take him by the collar and put him out,” 
commanded the clerk. 

Jeff turned and faced the negro. He held 
his head haughtily, and his eyes blazed, but he 
spoke calmly. 

“Yeh’d better not take that job by the day,” 
he said, “’cause yeh’ll lose by it if yeh do.” 

At this moment, Mr. Hawthorne, who had 
been watching the scene unobserved, stepped 
forward. 

“Good evening, Sir Jefferson,” he said, po¬ 
litely. “Miss Hawthorne is expecting you. 
Will you please step this way?” 

Jeff bowed and followed him, without deign¬ 
ing to so much as glance at the discomfited 
clerk, who feared he might have lost favor with 
one of the hotel’s richest guests. The negro 
stared at Jeff in undisguised amazement. 

“Sir Jefferson,” he repeated, as if puzzled. 
“If he’s quality, whatum I?” 

Mr. Hawthorne and Jeff left the elevator at 
the third floor. 

“Our parlor is on this floor,” he said, survey¬ 
ing his ragged guest critically. “I happened 
down there in just the right time, didn’t I, 
Jeff?”’ 

“Jes’ the right time fer the darky,” replied 
Jeff, calmly. 


S/I? yEFF'EI?SON’ NOBOD r 141 

“Really, Jeff, do you think you could have 
whipped him?” 

“I’m purty strong, ’specially when a feller 
tries teh drive me ’way from where I know I’ve 
a right teh be. I guess I’d ’a’ hurted him some 
while he was a-tryin’ teh put me out.” 

Minnie met them at the door. 

“You did come, didn’t you?” she said, hold¬ 
ing out her hand. 

“Course. I meant it when I said as how I’d 
come if I could. Heard anythin’ ’bout Paul?” 

“Not yet. Uncle has advertised in all the 
big newspapers. You haven’t heard anything, 
I suppose?” 

“Nary word. Miss Mildred says he won’t be 
far from the Twin Cities, for he didn’t hev 
money ’nough teh go fer, an’ he’s too honest teh 
steal a ride. ” 

“How I love Miss Mildred!” 

“I telled her that would make yeh feel good, 
an’ she said as how she hoped yeh wouldn’t think 
she said it a-puppose fer that. She’s alius set a 
store by Paul. ” 

“It is because she knows how to read human 
nature,” replied the devoted little sister, com¬ 
placently. “What did Paul do evenings when 
he lived with you?” she asked. 

“Sometimes he read stories teh Georgy an’ 
me. He buyed a book ’bout a feller what went 
’roun’ the world in eighty days. It cost fifteen 


142 SIJ? yEI^jF'EI^SOJV NOBODT 

cents, an’ was the greatest reactin’ I ever beam. 
Georgy liked it, too. Then he used teh read the 
evenin’ paper teh Georgy. Miss Mildred alius 
give him the paper when she got it read.” 

“Did he like Georgy, as you call him?” 

“Not much, I guess; an’ Georgy wasn’t 
much gone on him; but they hit it together on 
the readin’. Georgy knows a heap. He used 
teh teach me, but lately he hain’t felt like it.” 

“Where did you get your funny name?” 

“I guv it teh myself. Onc’t I see a baptizin’ 
in a church, an’ I wondered how I didn’t happen 
teh hev more’n one name, an’ the more I thunk 
’bout it the more I felt zif I needed it in my biz- 
ness. Wa’al, one day I fell through the ice inteh 
the river, an’ purty near drownded, an’ stacks 
an’ stacks o’ thoughts waltzed through my head 
afore I got out, an’ one was that a feller could 
make any sort o’ name fer hisself if he only went 
teh work at it in dead earnest. So, while I was 
climbin’ out, I sez teh myself, ‘Sir Jefferson No¬ 
body! I baptize yeh, an’ swear as how yeh’ll 
live up teh yer name from this minnit. ’ Wasn’t 
it funny? As true as preachin’ I never heard 
the words afore, an’ I never thunk ’bout makin’ 
myself inteh a nobleman; but now, I think 
mebbe my mother’s dead, an’ her sperrit come 
an’ whispered it teh me.” 

“Don’t it make.you afraid—thinking of your 
mother’s spirit, I mean?” 


S/R y^EFFERSOAT NOBODT 143 

“No, I like it. I make b'lieve every day as 
how she’s watchin’ me an’ pattin’ me on the 
back when I do anythin’ decent.” 

^^Can’t you remember the least little thing 
about her?” 

^‘Nary a thing. Mebbe it’s jes’ as well, 
’cause now I kin purtend what I like. I pur- 
tend she’s very beautiful—beautifuller than 
any pictur I’ve seen. I go inteh the pictur 
stores sometimes, teh look fer a pictur what 
looks like her, an’ when I find one purty ’nough 
I’m goin’ teh buy it, if it takes twenty years 
teh pay fer it. An’ then I purten’ as how 
I tuk all my ugly looks an’ my ugly ways 
from my father. I hev teh do that, yeh know, 
so’s not teh spoil my good thoughts ’bout my 
mother. ” 

Mr. Hawthorne had gone to the side of the 
room farthest from Minnie and her guest, and 
had taken up the evening paper, that they might 
enjoy their visit together without restraint. But 
had they not been so absorbed in their conversa¬ 
tion, they would have noticed that he had not 
turned the paper at all, and was really not read¬ 
ing a word. When Jeff said he pretended to in¬ 
herit all his bad traits from his father, Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne laughed aloud. 

‘‘That’s it, my lad,” he exclaimed, merrily. 
“That proves the strength of heredity. Without 
any training, you have lived up to one of the 


144 SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

greatest of the fallacies that women bequeath to 
their children. ” 

Jeff looked puzzled. 

“I don’t jes’ get the hang o’ what yer say- 
in’,” he replied. 

“Why, didn’t you know that ever since the 
first baby was laid in Mother Eve’s arms, chil¬ 
dren have always inherited their unhappy traits 
from their father?” 

Jeff turned toward Minnie without attempt¬ 
ing to reply. He felt that Mr. Hawthorne was 
joking, and perhaps making fun of him because 
of his day dreams. He wished he had not been 
quite so confidential with Minnie. 

“I corned here teh talk ’bout Paul,” he said, 
an expression of annoyance on his fine face, 
“an’ here I ’ve ben gabblin’ ’bout myself like a 
idjit. I dunno what made me act sich a fool.” 

“You have said nothing to be ashamed of, my 
boy,” interrupted Mr. Hawthorne, pleasantly. 
He came forward and took a chair quite close to 
Jeff. “Do you know,” he continued, “I believe 
there are not many boys who could have fought 
the world from babyhood, as you have done, 
and kept themselves as pure?” 

Jeff flushed with pleasure. 

“Let’s git teh talkin’ ’bout Paul,” he said, 
“yeh make me feel foolish.” 

“Please don’t feel foolish,” replied Mr. 
Hawthorne, earnestly. When he looked and 


SIR JEFFERSON NO BOOT 145 

spoke as he did then there is not a boy living 
who would not have been like putty in his hands. 
He could make boys do whatever he wished 
when he exerted himself to that purpose. “I 
want you to tell me all about yourself,” he con¬ 
tinued; “not from idle curiosity, however. I’ll 
give you my reasons later.” 

Jeff was won at once, and answered Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne’s questions to the best of his ability. 
When he had told all he knew, which is as much 
as the reader already knows, Mr. Hawthorne 
said: 

“Well, Jeff, now for my reasons for question¬ 
ing you like this. I have taken a fancy to you, 
and am going to propose. Now, don’t give me 
the mitten, and break my heart forever and 
ever. I want you to be my boy, take my name, 
and let me educate you, and help to make one 
of nature’s noblemen of you. What do you 
say?” 

Jeff held his breath for a moment, and his 
eyes grew large and dark with surprise. 

“Does yeh mean it?” he finally managed to 
say. 

“I mean it, Jeff,” was the grave reply. 

“But yeh’ve got Minnie an’ Paul-” 

“I’m able to have three children. I’m like 
most men in money affairs—the more I have, the 
more I want. And I guess Minnie won’t ob¬ 
ject-” 




1^6 S/B JBFFBBSON NOBODY 

“Oh, Uncle John!” exclaimed the young 
lady, “it would be just splendid. Next to Paul 
I’d rather have Jeff for a brother than any one 
else in the world. ” 

“How do you know that, pussy? You’ve 
seen him just twice.” 

“Oh, I know, just the same. I like him, 
uncle, and because I do, I’m sure he must be 
good. ” 

“Any one who would not accept that reason 
as conclusive deserves no consideration,” replied 
Uncle John, with great seriousness. Then turn¬ 
ing to Jeff, “Well, my boy, what do you say?’ 

Jeff was pale with emotion, and his voice 
trembled, but the reply came bravely: 

“I’d like it, an’ I thank yeh, but I can’t do 
it.” 

“Can’t do it? Why not?” 

“Count o’ King George. He needs me.” 

“I’ll see that he has a good place in some 
soldiers’ home. He is entitled to it, I under¬ 
stand.” 

“I don’t think he’d like it. He has ways o’ 
his own. ” 

“But surely he would not want to spoil your 
chances-” 

“I don’t believe he’d say a word agin my 
goin’; but I know he’d feel it. An’ I’m right 
glad, fer he let me love him when I didn’t have 
nobody else. ” 



SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 147 

Mr. Hawthorne turned away to hide the tears 
that had suddenly come into his eyes, for the 
pathos of Jeff’s honest reply touched his sensi¬ 
tive heart. 

“I’ll not urge you, Jeff,’’ he said, “but you’ll 
surely let me help you, even though you stay 
with him?’’ 

“I dunno. Georgy might suspeck. I don’t 
want him teh know as how I’ve had sech an 
offer, ’cause he might feel bad ’bout my stayin’. 
I guess I’d better hoe my own row a while 
longer. ’’ 

“Well, will you promise to write to me?’’ 

“If I needs help?’’ 

“Yes, and whether you do or not. Write at 
least once a month-’’ 

“A man to see you, sir,’’ said a bell boy, at 
the door. Mr. Hawthorne turned toward him. 

“I am sent by the chief of police, sir,” said 
the stranger, touching his cap. “He thinks he 
has news of your nephew.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


“News of Paul? I am glad to hear it. I will 
get my hat and go right back with you.” 

“I’ll go, too,” announced Jeff, quite as if he 
were sure his company would be acceptable. He 
had such a sense of his own dignity that others 
were usually impressed with it, too. 

“And me, uncle? What about me?” asked 
Minnie. 

“You are going to stay with Mrs. Fiske and 
be a good little girl. Either Jeff or I will come 
back very soon and tell you what we have 
heard. ” 

“Not very soon, if you want to see him,” in¬ 
terrupted the man who had brought the news, 
“for he’s in St. Paul.” 

That certainly would be too far for you to go 
to-night, Minnie. I’m sure you’ll be my brave 
little woman-” 

“I’ll be real good, uncle; only please hurry 
as fast as you can. ” 

Paul was found in the charity ward of a St. 
Paul hospital, where he had been every day 
since the one following that on which he had 
148 



S/Ji JEFFERSON NO BOD 7' 149 

left Minneapolis. He had rescued a little waif 
from certain death under the hoofs of a run¬ 
away team, and in so doing had sustained in¬ 
juries that nearly cost him his life. For weeks 
he had lain unconscious, occasionally muttering 
in his delirium, but never saying anything that 
would give his attendants a clew as to his iden¬ 
tity. 

“He told me his story about six weeks ago,” 
said the nurse, “but I did not write to his sister, 
for he asked me not to. He said it would be 
better for her not to hear from him until he had 
found something to do, and could write cheer¬ 
fully.” 

“How is he now?” asked Mr. Hawthorne. 
“Can he see me? Does he know of my ar¬ 
rival?” 

“After the detective had been here—you 
know, do you not, that the detective is my 
brother?—I told Paul that I expected a friend 
here to see him before many days, and he im¬ 
mediately assured me that he knew who it was; 
so I told him no more. A surprise will not hurt 
him now.” 

“I’ll bet he was thinkin’ o’ me when he said 
he knowed who was a-comin’,” said Jeff, a smile 
of pleasure lighting up his face. 

“I think myself his mind was on you,” replied 
the nurse, with a smile, “more especially when 
he knew that I had friends among the police 


150 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

officers, for he knows you have friends among 
them, too. It might be a good idea for you to 
see him first-” 

“All right. I’m ready,’’ interrupted Jeff with 
such alacrity that both Mr. Hawthorne and the 
nurse had to laugh. 

He followed the nurse to the door of the sit¬ 
ting room where Paul rested in an easy chair; 
but when he saw the pale, pinched features of 
his friend, the happy words of greeting died on 
his lips, and he remained motionless in the 
doorway. 

“Jeff, old fellow,’’ exclaimed Paul, starting 
to his feet. 

“Don’t git up, Paul, fer massey’s sake; don’t 
move, else yeh mought break in two!’’ 

Paul laughed. 

“Oh, not so bad as that,’’ he said. “I’m 
quite strong now—much stronger than I look. 
Oh, it seems so good to see you!’’ 

“If yeh’d jist said the word,’’ said Jeff, com¬ 
ing forward and sitting astride a chair facing 
Paul, where he could study him at his leisure, 
“if yeh’d jist said the word, yeh could ’a’ seen 
me the very day yeh got yer senses back. Why 
didn’t yeh say it?’’ 

“Because you believed—oh, Jeff, I can’t get 
over the awfulness of it! What would sister 
Minnie say to know that I had been accused of 
stealing?’’ 



^/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 151 

“She said as how it was a darned lie!” 
Then, after a pause, “Come teh think o’ it, how- 
somever, I’m not sure as she said darn.” 

“Jeff, have you seen my sister Minnie?” 

“Yeh bet I have! She’s a daisy, Paul, an’ 
yer the child o’ fortune, ’stid o’ me!” 

“Jeff, tell me, where did you see her? When? 
How is she?” 

“Teh-day. At a hotel in Minneapolis, where 
she’s a-livin’ in style with a rich uncle, an’ she’s 
well, an’—oh, golly, gracious! Somebody come, 
quick, he’s dyin’!” 

This call brought Mr. Hawthorne and the 
nurse who had been standing near the door. 
Paul had only lost consciousness for a moment, 
and he would not let Jeff leave, as the nurse 
suggested. 

“I’m all right now,” he said. “It was so 
sudden; and, oh. Uncle John, how much you do 
look like my father!” 

“You don’t look at all as I hoped to find you, 
dear boy,” said Mr. Hawthorne, gently: “but 
now I have found you, I shall insist on your 
getting well very fast. I don’t want you to stay 
here a moment longer than is necessary. Nurse, 
when can I take him away?” 

“It depends upon where you mean to take 
him. ” 

“Oh, take me to my sister Minnie,” pleaded 
Paul. 


152 5 /i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“We are staying at Minneapolis, at a hotel,” 
explained Mr. Hawthorne. 

“Is Mrs. Hawthorne there, or any lady who 
could look out for him?” 

“Mrs. Hawthorne is in Naples. Could I not 
engage your services for a week?” 

It was finally arranged that Paul should be 
taken to the hotel the next day, and that the 
nurse should accompany them. At the end of 
the week, the doctor thought, Paul would be 
well enough to start on the long voyage across 
the water. 

“Indeed,” he said, “nothing could be better 
for him than such a trip, but we never dreamed 
anything so good was in store for our little char¬ 
ity patient.” 

“And that reminds me,” said Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne, “that Paul and I have a bill to settle 
here.” 

“Do you know how the lad met with the ac¬ 
cident?” 

“I have been told. I am very proud of him.” 

“It is the one decent thing I have done. 
Uncle John,” said Paul, “and I am so glad I 
thought to do it! It helps to redeem some of 
my blunders. My sister Minnie is the one of 
whom you will be most proud. All during my 
sickness. I’ve been comparing our two lives-” 

“Minnie’s all right,” interrupted the uncle, 
“and so are you. Now, what I want to know is 



5 //? JEFFERSON NOBODT 


153 


whether or not you are going to bed and to sleep, 
like a sensible person? Jeff and I will go at 
once, for you must be nicely rested for to-mor¬ 
row. ’ ’ 

“I’ll try to behave,’’ Paul replied, in a tone 
that was very like Minnie’s when she said she’d 
be real good if her uncle would only hurry. 

Bright and early the next morning Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne and Minnie called for Paul and the nurse. 
The ride did Paul good, and he protested against 
going to bed as soon as he had reached the 
hotel, but the nurse insisted. He was glad when 
evening came that he had obeyed, for Jeff came 
to bring the things Paul had left at his house. 

“If you hadn’t minded the nurse,’’ said Min¬ 
nie, “you couldn’t have gone into the sitting- 
room to see dear old Jeff.’’ 

“To see whom?’’ exclaimed Paul. 

“That is what you called him,’’ replied Min¬ 
nie, laughing and blushing, “and you know we 
agreed to like always the same people and the 
same books-’’ 

“Oh, papa’s books!’’ 

“They’re here, but we can’t unpack them. 
Hurry, Jeff is waiting!’’ 

“Feel like keelin’ over teh-night?’’ asked 
Jeff, as Paul entered the private sitting-room, 
which had been engaged by Mr. Hawthorne. 

“Not a bit of it,’’ replied Paul, heartily. 
“I’m done with that nonsense now.’’ 


154 JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“Could yeh stan’ some news what’s fust-class 
an’ more, too?’’ 

Jeff’s eyes were dancing with suppressed ex¬ 
citement. 

“Jeff, what do you mean? Has that money 
been found?’’ 

“Nop, but I knows who took it.’’ 

“Tell me! Tell me, quick!’’ 

“Stella did.’’ 

“Stella! Is that a fact?’’ Then, after a pause, 
“Who found it out?’’ 

“I did, yer honor. Yer didn’t know as how 
Sir Jefferson Nobody was a boss detective, did 
yeh?’’ 

“Oh, Jeff, do hurry and tell us about it!’’ 
exclaimed Minnie, adding, “Boys are always so 
provokingly slow about telling things.’’ 

“Wa’al, I’ve ben watchin’ her ever sense 
Paul went away. Yeh see, I happened teh see 
her lookin’ at Bill when he up an’ talked against 
Paul, an’ I seed as how she looked mighty 
s’prised, an’ that look kep’ a-botherin’ me, an’ 
I finally figgered it out in my min’ jist as it 
proves teh be. I says teh myself, ‘Jeff, Stella 
knows somethin’ ’bout that money, an’ she don’t 
b’lieve Paul took it, an' she’s wonderin’ why Bill 
is throwin’ the blame onto him.’ ’’ 

“Why did he?’’ asked Paul. 

“Cause he knowed as how I liked you, an’ 
he hated me an’ everybody what b’longed teh 


s/B ^effejRson nobod r 155 

me, an’ then he knowed as how Miss Mildred 
liked you and didn’t like him. 'Twas jes’ dirty 
spite work, an’ he’s got teh git one more good 
lickin’ afore I’m done with him,” 

‘‘Oh, no, Jeff, don’t fight,” pleaded Minnie. 
Jeff made no reply, but he looked very deter¬ 
mined. 

‘‘Go on with your story, Jeff,” said Paul, 
impatiently; ‘‘you haven’t told how you discov¬ 
ered-” 

‘‘Oh, yes! Where was I at? Oh, I know. 
Wa’al, I jes’ kep’ a eye on Stella. By goin’ a 
leetle out o’ my way at night I could foller her 
home, an’ she alius gits down in the mornin’ 
afore the stores is open, so I knowed she couldn’t 
do no tradin’ then. When she went into a store 
I looked teh see if she guv the clerk a twenty- 
dollar gold piece, an’ yestehday she did it. 
When she handed it out, the clerk said as how 
it was a beauty, an’ I stepped up an’ says, ‘Bet¬ 
ter give him suthin’ smaller, ’cause you’ll need 
that afore mornin’.’ She knowed as how I was 
onto her leetle game, an’ fust she was red as a 
turkey gobbler, then white like chalk. She tried 
teh brave it out, but I told the clerk he’d better 
keep the shoes over night, an’ guv her back her 
money, ’cause ’twant hern. He didn’t know 
what teh do, but she snatched it outen his ban’s, 
an’ cantered teh the door like a ghost was after 
her, an’ she didn’t come teh work teh-day. But 



156 SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

she writ a letter teh Miss Mildred, an’ put the 
money in it, an’ said as how nobody needn’t look 
fer her ’cause she was goin’ away where she 
couldn’t be found.” 

“What will the boss do?’’ asked Paul. 

“Nothin’. Miss Mildred coaxed him teh let 
the matter drop. The fellers at the store an’ 
Miss Mildred, yes, an’ the boss chipped in, an’ 
got this fer yeh, an’ Miss Mildred writ a letter 
teh go with it. ’’ 

Jeff put a small box into Paul’s outstretched 
hand. It contained a beautiful scarf pin. 

“Cost ten dollars,’’ announced Jeff, excit¬ 
edly, “an’ Miss Mildred’s teh blame fer it. 
What’s in her letter?” 

Minnie took the letter from Paul’s hand. He 
had read it first to himself, and now sat quietly, 
with bowed head, too happy to speak. 

This is what Minnie read: 

Dear Paul: I never believed you took that money, 
and I am as happy as you can possibly be, that our true 
friend, Jeff, has been able to prove your innocence. 
Will you accept this little offering, as an expression of 
goodwill from your fellow laborers? Jeff has told us of 
your illness, and the brave deed that caused it, and we 
are all very proud of you. Get well, as soon as you can, 
and when you return from abroad, be sure to hunt up 
your old friends, all of whom rejoice in your good for¬ 
tune, and wish you the happiest time imaginable. 

Your true friend, 


Mildred. 


SIR yERRERSOJV NOBOD 2 ' 157 

“That sounds jes’ like her,’’ said Jeff. 
“She’s pure gold—that is, if she hain’t mixed 
with diamonds; an’ now I’m goin’. King 
Georgy hain’t feelin’ fust rate, an’ he wants me 
teh git back. ’’ 

Jeff was down at the Union Depot to bid his 
friends farewell, when they started on the long 
journey to the distant lands. 

“Yer lookin’ quite scrumpt’ous,’’ he said to 
Paul. “Yeh’ll be yerself in no time.’’ 

“Oh, Jeff! Ido wish you were going with us.’’ 

“I do some—an’ some I don’t. There’s 
King George, yeh know—he’s got a big holt on 
my heartstrings; but when yeh gits back teh 
Chicogy, let me know, an’ mebbe I’ll visit yeh, 
some day. ’’ 

“I’ll send you the money to come with,’’ said 
Mr. Hawthorne, “whenever you can leave King 
George. ’’ 

“Thanky, kindly, sir; but I guess I’ll have 
’nough. I’m a child o’ Fortune, yeh know.’’ 

The cars were moving. Jeff jumped from the 
train and waved his hand in reply to the signals 
through the car window; then he was alone. 

“A dandy child o’ Fortune, I be!’’ he ex¬ 
claimed almost bitterly. “I hain’t got no uncle, 
an’ no sister, an’ no home, an’ no nothin’, ’cep’ 
King George; an’ Paul’s got ’em all! He never 
called hisself a child o’ Fortune, but he’s it. He 
is, fer a fac’. ’’ 


158 S/I^ yEFI^EJiSON NOBODY 

Jeff walked some distance in silence, then 
suddenly stopped and addressed the shadowy 
representation of himself in a show window. 

“So yeh’r the chap what’s goin’ teh make a 
nobleman o’ hisself, an’ yer down in the mouth 
’cause somebody’s got suthin’ that yer hain’t 
got. Great nobleman yer be. Howlin’ success 
in the nobleman line o’ bizness, hain’t yeh? 
Yeh hain’t lost nothin’ an’ yeh got some good 
friends what yeh didn’t hev afore yeh knowed 
Paul, an’ there hain’t a speck o’ reason why yeh 
can’t be a nobleman now, jes’ as well as yeh 
could then. An’ there’s Georgy what needs yeh 
wusser’n ever. Now, yeh old turncoat of a 
sniveler, go ’bout yer bizness an’ see if yeh can’t 
be a nobleman in dead earnest. Don’t fergit feh 
one minit as how yer Sir Jefferson Nobody, o’ 
Rosebud Villa on the Rhine, an’ that a truly 
child o’ Fortune an’ his sister are yer frien’s,’’ 


CHAPTER XX 


Several months had passed since Paul and 
Minnie had gone abroad with their Uncle John. 
Jeff had missed them so greatly that it seemed 
to him as if everything worth having had gone 
out of his life, and instead of finding work a 
pleasure—something to be thankful for, as he 
had always considered it—it became a drudgery. 

‘Tt’s jes’ slave, slave, slave, from mornin’ 
till night,” he said, “an’ there’s never a penny 
left at the end o’ the week. I kin go on like 
this till I’m a ole man, an’ then what? There 
ain’t nobody in the world what cares what 
’comes o’ me, ’cep’ Georgy, an’ when he’s dead 
I could drown myself in the river an’ I’d never 
be missed. An’ if King George keeps on gittin’ 
thin-” 

Jeff resolutely put this thought away, and be¬ 
gan whistling a merry tune. He simply would 
not allow himself to dwell upon a future in 
which the old man had no part, although he was 
often forced to admit that King George was fail¬ 
ing. When the thought came to him on his way 
159 



i6o 5/i? JEFFERSON NO BOD T 

home, as it did in this instance, he always has¬ 
tened his steps, and soon he was running so 
swiftly that the whistling ceased and the gloomy 
thoughts were left far behind. He was almost 
opposite one of the fine houses in that part of the 
city, and about to pass into a path leading across 
lots through an unsettled portion grown up with 
bushes, when his attention was attracted by the 
curious behavior of a woman, who had suddenly 
arisen from a clump of bushes where she had 
evidently been hiding. 

Without stopping for a second thought, Jeff 
stepped behind a tree where he could watch her 
unobserved. It was quite late, for work had 
been unusually heavy for this season of the year, 
and Jeff had been working evenings. There was 
no moon, but a street lamp on the corner gave 
out a bright light. The woman came toward it, 
rapidly, looking furtively in every direction to 
see that she was not watched. When she 
reached the street lamp, she stood still, taking a 
long look at the bundle she carried; then she 
raised it to her face and seemed to be kissing it 
passionately. In another moment, she had de¬ 
posited it beside the door of the fine house, and 
disappeared around the corner. Before she left 
it, however, she gave a sharp pull at the door¬ 
bell. 

Jeff waited quietly. 

“There hain’t nobody teh home,” he said. 


S/B yEJ^I^EjRSOJV' NOBODr i6l 

“I don’t see why she didn’t have sense ’nough 
teh find out ’bout that. The big folks is in Eurip 
an’ the servints is gone half the time.” 

There was a smothered cry from the direction 
of the doorstep, and Jeff hurried across the 
street, without stopping to ask himself what he 
intended to do. Reaching the bundle, he pulled 
aside a corner of the old shawl in which it was 
wrapped, and two big tear-filled eyes stared at 
him in the dim light. 

“Wa’al, leetle one,” he said, cheerfully; 
“yeh got left, didn’t yeh? What yeh goin’ teh 
do ’bout it?” 

For answer the baby’s lips quivered, and the 
two big tears rolled down its cheeks. Those 
tears went straight to the very tenderest place in 
Jeff’s tender heart, and in another moment he had 
the baby in his arms and was kissing it almost as 
frantically as its mother had. It cuddled down 
contentedly with its head buried in Jeff’s neck, 
and the lad walked on toward his miserable 
home, his heart full of happiness over his treas¬ 
ure ; for in that first swift moment he had decided 
to keep the baby. 

The look of surprise and consternation on 
King George’s face when Jeff came in with the 
baby would have set the lad off into a gale of 
laughter at any other time. Now, he was so 
full of his purpose as to be oblivious to all else. 
As he unrolled the old shawl to free the baby’s 


62 


5 //? JEFFERSON NOBODY 


hands, an envelope dropped out. Jeff opened it, 
then put the letter into the old man’s hands. 

“The baby’s name is Royal,’’ he read, “and 
he is a year old to-day. His father ran away 
from me before its birth. I have tried to earn a 
living for us both, but Fate is against me, and I 
have determined to give my baby up, hoping he 
will fall into good hands. I am told you have 
no children. Care for my boy, and if there is a 
God He will reward you. I was brought up to 
believe in such things, but if there is a God He 
certainly seems to have forgotten me. I shall 
leave this city to-night, never to return, so you 
need not fear that my sweet child will be taken 
from you. ’’ 

“I’m right glad o’ that!’’ exclaimed Jeff, 
when the old man read this sentence. “I’d hate 
tell lose him.” 

“What do you mean,” demanded the old 
man. “Surely you are not fool enough to dream 
of keeping this baby!” 

“I’m ’feared I be,” replied Jeff, quietly. “I 
guess that’s what’s ben ailin’ me o’ late. I’ve 
ben pinin’ fer somethin’ teh love—suthin’ what 
needed me. ” 

“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you get that 
dog, then?” 

“’Cause yeh said as how we couldn’t ’ford it. 
Yeh called me a fool teh think ’bout that, too. 
Don’t yeh ’member?” 



HE HAD DECIDED TO KEEP THE P.ABY 





































































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SIR JERRERSON’ NOBODT 


163 


“Well, if you’ve got to be a fool over some¬ 
thing, it better be a dog. It will cost less to 
keep him. ” 

“But there hain’t no dog in pertickler, yeh 
know. I jes’ heard ’bout that one I was tellin’ 
’bout; I hadn’t seed him. But I’ve seed this 
leetle chap, an’ he likes me a’ready. Yeh do, 
don’t yeh, laddie?’’ 

The baby looked up and laughed, then caught 
his fat fingers in Jeff’s tangled hair and crowed 
gleefully. He was evidently quite ready for a 
romp. 

Jeff had never before held a baby, and his 
awkwardness was apparent; but the little one 
evidently considered it part of the fun, and didn’t 
mind a bit. With the baby wisdom which is 
always so surprising, he seemed to have reached 
an immediate conclusion that Jeff was to be 
trusted and loved. 

While Jeff played with the baby, the old man 
sat with his chin buried in his hands, watching 
the pretty picture they made. An unusually 
heavy cloud had settled over him, and there 
was a look of sadness in his somber eyes that 
touched Jeff strangely when he chanced to look 
at him. 

“Why, King George,’’ he said, softly, “yeh 
hain’t thinkin’ as how I’ll keer less ’bout yeh 
’cause o’ this leetle chap, be yeh?’’ 

“Oh, no,’’ replied the old man, wearily, 


I 


164 S/E yEFFEJ^SOJV NOBODT 


brushing his withered hands across his eyes as if 
to shut out an unpleasant view. 

“ ’Cause yell’ll alus come fust,” continued 
Jeff. ‘‘Yeh’d have teh, yeh know, ’cordin’ teh 
nature, ’cause yeh come fust teh start with!” 

“I don’t know why I should expect you or 
any one else to care for me at all,” replied the 
old man, with sudden sharpness, ‘‘and it really 
makes very little difference either way. What 
I’m thinking of is this child. If you were not 
an absolute fool you’d know that he needs care 
that only a woman could give. You could do 
little in the few hours you are home from work, 
and, as you know, I could do nothing. Then 
the expense-” 

‘‘Let’s not talk ’bout that,” interrupted 
Jeff. ‘‘If yeh’re thinkin’ ’bout what’s good fer 
him—an’ p’r’aps he do need tendin’-” 

“Why, of course he does! You’d better go 
and put him back where you found him.” 

“But the folks is gone,” interrupted Jeff, 
eagerly. 

“And then bring a policeman,” continued 
the old man, without noticing the interruption. 
“He’ll know just what to do, and you’ll have no 
further trouble in the matter.” 

“What’ll he do? Take the leetle feller teh 
the work’us?” 

“Take him to the matron down at the jail 
for to-night, most likely. Then a home will be 




SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 165 

found for him. He’s such a bright appearing 
child that, without doubt, he’ll soon be adopted 
into a nice family. Think what you would rob 
him of by trying to keep him here! Good 
clothes, good food, education, every opportunity 
to make a name for himself. Jeff, lad, it’s too 
bad, but you’d better take him back, and to¬ 
morrow, you might ask the boy who was telling 
you of the dog if he has been disposed of yet.” 

Jeff arose without a word, and began wrap¬ 
ping up the baby, who had now fallen asleep. 

‘‘Here’s the letter,” said the old man. 
‘‘Better put that in, too. The writer was care¬ 
ful not to give her name, but the letter may be 
valuable some day. There’s a postscript saying 
that the little one’s clothing may be found in 
a basket in the clump of bushes to the right of 
the house. ” 

Jeff took the letter, but made no response. 
His face was deadly pale, and his eyes burned 
like coals of fire. It was evident that he labored 
under great excitement. When he had gone, 
carrying the baby, the old man covered his face 
with his hands and wept like a child. 

“Poor lad! poor lad!” he murmured, “why 
can’t I have courage enough to kill myself and 
set him free!” 


CHAPTER XXI 


Jeff walked very slowly toward the house 
where he had found the baby. 

“Only one year old,” he said. “Tain’t 
much. If I should keep yeh one year, baby, 
yeh’d only be two years old. ’Twouldn’t be 
takin’ much out o’ yer life. I’m purty near six¬ 
teen. Wonder if anybody wanted teh take me 
when I was a leetle chap, an’ if there was some 
one what wanted teh keep me, hisself, an’ I 
am what I am jes’ ’cause o’ him? If there was 
any sich feller, an’ I should see him now, would 
I hate him?” 

Jeff thought about this while walking several 
blocks, then he stopped suddenly and pushed 
aside the corner of the shawl that covered the 
baby’s face. “Guess he won’t ketch cold if I 
look at him a jiffy,” he said. “Baby, I reckon 
I shouldn’t hate that feller what wanted teh keep 
me, even if I did lose somethin’ by it. I’d be 
that tickled to know as how somebody cared, 
that I couldn’t be mad at him, an’ I b’lieve 
that’s human natur’. Yeh’ll be tickled some 
day, ’cause I feel teh-night jes’ zif I couldn’t 
let yeh go. ” 


S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODT 167 

Jeff went into the clump of bushes where 
the baby’s mother had been in hiding, earlier in 
the evening, and soon found the clothing hidden 
there. He sat down beside it, and held the 
baby close to his heart. He had fully decided 
to keep it, for at least a year, but how? He did 
not doubt that the old man was right about the 
little one needing a woman’s care. Well, he 
must have it. 

“Somehow ruther,” said Jeff. “He must 
have everythin’ he needs, an’ I must git it fer 
him. If I only knowed—by jiminy crickets! I 
do know!’’ 

Jeff sprang to his feet, with this astonishing 
exclamation, and the baby awoke and began to 
cry. 

“Don’t do that, leetle feller,’’ he said, cud¬ 
dling it under his chin. “Don’t do that, ’cause 
I don’t know what yeh wants, but I’ll take yeh 
teh somebody what’ll find out.’’ 

Jeff’s first idea was to carry the baby to Miss 
Mildred and ask her to take care of it for him 
for a year. But second thought caused him to 
hesitate. He had gone some blocks from the 
place where he had found the baby’s clothing, 
and was near a church. He seated himself on 
the steps, for there was more thinking to be 
done, and the child was growing heavy. 

“They’re rich,’’ he said. “If not rich, purty 
near it. They’d keep the baby fer good, like’s 


168 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

not, an* I wouldn’t git him when I wanted him. 
An’ the baby’d want teh stay where he could 
have things the nicest. He’d see them more’n 
me, an’ I shouldn’t be nowhere. I couldn’t 
Stan’ it, baby. ” 

Jeff arose quickly, an expression of pleasure 
lighting up his face. “Mis’ Watson!’’ he ex¬ 
claimed. “She’s the very one. She’s got so 
many kids she won’t want this leetle chap, but 
mebbe I kin hire her teh take keer o’ him, an’ in 
course she knows how. I hain’t never heerd as 
any o’ her’n has died.’’ 

Jeff walked quickly in the direction of the lit¬ 
tle unpainted house where Mrs. Watson lived 
with her children. He had no acquaintance with 
this lady, but knew her as he knew many other 
people with whom he had never spoken, by what 
his keen powers of observation had taught him. 
His bright eyes seemed to see everything, and 
his good memory retained every impression. 
Then he had, to an unusual degree, the faculty 
known as “putting two and two together.’’ It 
enabled him to form a very good idea of the 
daily life of the families living in most of the 
houses he passed on his way to and from his 
work. 

It was quite late when he rapped at Mrs. 
Watson’s door, but she was still up. 

“Come in, Jake,’’ she called. “The door 
hain’t locked!’’ Then, as Jeff appeared, carrying 


S/jR JEFFERSON NOBODY 169 

the baby, ‘ ‘ Land sakes alive! I thought ’twas my 
old man! I’m expectin’ of him home to-night.” 

‘‘I’m Sir Jefferson Nobody, Mis’ Watson,” 
said Jeff, pleasantly. 

“You’re what?” 

“Only a boy,” added Jeff, quickly; “an’ 
here’s another! I want teh git yeh teh take care 
o’ him fer a few months. I don’t know nothin’ 
’bout babies!” 

“Is he yer brother?” 

“Not zactly,” replied Jeff, with hesitation. 
He wished he had thought to plan a story before 
coming to the house, for it had suddenly oc¬ 
curred to him that he might lose the baby if it 
were known that he did not hold it by the claim 
of relationship. 

“Half brother, mebbe?” said Mrs. Watson, 
questioningly. 

Jeff nodded. “It hain’t got no mother now,” 
he added, “an’ land knows where its dad is! 
Mis’ Watson, what’ll yeh charge teh board this 
baby?” 

“Nothin’, ’cause I shan’t board it. I’ve got 
younguns enough to look out fer.” 

“If yeh’d only take him a week or two—jes’ 
till I can find a place,” pleaded Jeff. “Fer teh- 
night, anyhow,,” he urged. “I don’t know what 
teh do with him. He’s a mighty good leetle 
chap, an’ here’s his clothes, an’ yeh’ve got a 
cow—please teh take him!” 


1 70 S/Ii JEFFERSON" NO BODY 

“Oh, I’ll keep him over night,” replied the 
good-natured woman, “jes’ teh ’blige yeh, an’ 
cause I wouldn’t want one o’ my younguns teh 
suffer fer a mother’s care. Come here, yeh little 
rascal! Land, land, but yeh’re a bright baby!” 

Jeff watched Mrs. Watson while she undressed 
the baby and got it ready for bed, and then 
gave it a cupful of milk. He was a nice baby, 
never making the least bit of fuss but going to 
sleep as promptly as possible when the last drop 
of milk had disappeared. 

“I’ll stop in in the mornin’,” said Jeff, going 
to the door. “Good-night.” 

Jeff ran home with a light heart. The old 
man was sleeping in his chair when he entered 
the room, but traces of tears were still on his 
sunken cheeks. 

“My stars!” said Jeff, softly. “I wonder if 
poor old King Georgy’s ben a-cryin’!” 

He touched the old man gently. 

“Wake up, Georgy,” he said. “I’ve kep’ 
yeh out o’ bed till yer purty near dead.” 

“Oh, Jeff, is that you?” 

“Yeh bet it is!” responded Jeff, cheerfully, 
as he stooped to untie the old man’s shoe-laces. 

“How’d yeh ever git sichapesky knot in this 
here shoestring? Guess I’ll have teh cut it-” 

“No, no,” interrupted the old man, anx¬ 
iously; “don’t cut it, it costs money to buy 
shoestrings. ” 


5/7? JEFFERSON NOBOD T 171 

“Guess ’twouldn’t take no great sight teh 
buy one like this,” replied Jeff, again working 
patiently over the knot. “There! I’ve got 
it!” 

“You were gone a long time,” said the old 
man, complainingly. “I began to think you’d 
forgotten all about me.” 

“I hadn’t, though,” replied Jeff. “So yeh 
see as how yeh’d begun teh think wrong. 
Ready? One, two, three—here we go! I act- 
chilly b’lieve, Georgy, as how yeh’re beginnin* 
teh git outer yer chair a leetle spryer! Them 
bitters is doin’ yeh good. I’m glad I heard 
’bout ’em. I’ll git more-” 

“No, Jeff, don’t get more! Bitters cost 
money, and you can’t afford it. One can’t buy 
everything on a salary of three dollars a week.” 

“I’ve got ’nough laid by fer more o’ them 
bitters-” 

“But I don’t need them, Jeff. I’m better 
than I have been for a long time.” 

“Good reasing fer takin’ more.” 

“If one takes too much of such medicine it 
loses its power,” replied the old man, gravely. 
“I’d rather not take more until such time as I 
need it very much.” 

While they talked they had been moving 
slowly toward the stairs. Before starting to 
mount to his room, the old man said: 

“Some day, Jeff, you’ll see I was right about 



172 SIR yERFERSON’ NOBODY 

the baby. There’ll be no home here, I suppose, 
when I am gone-” 

“Don’t, Georgy, don’t!’’exclaimed Jeff, hold¬ 
ing up his hands as if to push away the words he 
would not hear. “Yeh hain’t a-goin’ nowheres,’’ 
he added, passionately, “an’ yeh shan’t talk so.’’ 

“All right, I won’t. By the way, were you 
waiting to see if any one found the baby?’’ 

A sudden change came into Jeff’s face. All 
the agony that had been called there by the 
thought of losing the old man faded away, and 
an expression of sternness took its place, mak¬ 
ing the boyish face look years older. 

“King Georgy,’’ he said, gravely, “I’ll like 
yeh better if yeh’ll never speak teh me agin 
’bout that there baby.’’ 

‘‘He’s taken a dislike to me now, ’ ’ thought the 
old man, “and I presume he’ll never get over it. ’’ 

In this the old man was mistaken. Jeff 
helped him upstairs, as usual, then cleared away 
the dishes and prepared for bed. 

“Poor Georgy,’’ he thought; “I won’t spat 
with him, an’ I don’t want teh lie teh him, an’ 
so it’s better not teh talk ’bout the leetle Prince 
at all. Prince Royal Nobody! Gee! but that’s 
a snortin’ good name, that is—considerin’!’’ 

This last word was said somewhat doubtfully. 
Jeff was not quite sure that the name which he 
considered plenty good enough for himself was 
quite as fine as he wanted the baby to have. 



CHAPTER XXII 


The next morning Jeff started to his work 
earlier than usual. This caused the old man no 
surprise, for he knew Jeff was giving extra hours 
to his work, and he was glad to think of the 
larger amount of money that would be available 
as a consequence. 

“The lad needs a new suit of clothes,’’ he 
said. “I must make him buy them with what 
money he earns working overtime.’’ 

The old man was evidently thinking in a 
somewhat unusual line. 

“I wish Jeff wasn’t quite so easy-going,” he 
said, after a moment’s silence. He talked aloud 
to himself when alone, a habit formed from long- 
continued solitude. “Here he is almost sixteen 
years old, and only earning three dollars a week, 
and he has worked for that firm so long. There 
is no reason why he shouldn’t have more, but 
he won’t get it unless he asks for it, and all I 
can say won’t make him do that. So long as he 
has enough to eat, no matter how coarse it is, 
and something to wear, no matter how ragged 
and dirty, he seems to be perfectly satisfied. 
He doesn’t care a fig for money.” 

173 


174 JEFFERSON NOBODT 

This last sentence was spoken with strong 
evidence of displeasure. There was no doubt as 
to whether or not the old man had a proper re¬ 
spect for money. 

“I wonder,” he continued, a dreamy look 
coming into his face, “what it would do for Jeff 
to give him a few years in my old home?” 

As he spoke there came before him a vision of 
a fine old home in England, and of himself, as 
the youngest son, playing on a well-kept lawn, 
with a handsome dog of almost fabulous price. 
He aroused himself and looked about him. 
“That was the beginning; this the ending. I 
am glad the story will be reversed with at least 
one of our unfortunate family. Oh, Gilbert, 
Gilbert, my precious son-” 

The old man stopped speaking quite abruptly, 
and looked about him, furtively. He wished 
to make sure that no one had heard him. 

It would have been evident to any careful 
observer that at one time he had been an unusu¬ 
ally fine-looking man. Even now, as he sat in 
the cheerless room, clad in garments that ought 
to have been consigned to the ragbag long ago, 
it would not have been difficult to a student of 
human nature to imagine him at home in very 
different surroundings. He was decidedly Eng¬ 
lish in his appearance and accent. His words 
were always well chosen, and had there been any 
one with whom he cared to converse, he would 



S/jR ^EFFEjRSOJV nobody 175 

soon attracted attention by his varied store of 
information. Not so many years ago he had 
been a frequent visitor to the Public Library, 
but increasing infirmities had made that impos¬ 
sible, and since Jeff had come to him he had de¬ 
pended entirely upon him for literary food, and 
eagerly read the old newspapers that were given 
to Jeff when he made his regular visits to the 
various editorial offices. He picked up one of 
these papers now, and tried to become interested 
in its contents, but for some reason his thoughts 
would not leave the boy who stood between him 
and hunger and loneliness. His head dropped 
forward on his chest, for he had fallen asleep, 
and the soft September breezes came through 
the open window and played as tenderly with 
his thin hair as a mother would have done. 
What sort of a life had he lived that its closing 
years should be so pitiful? 

Meanwhile Jeff had hurried on his way and 
was soon knocking at Mrs. Watson’s door. 

“How is the Prince?’’ he asked, quite breath¬ 
lessly, as soon as the door was opened. 

“He’s all right,’’ replied Mrs. Watson. 
“What yeh been runnin’ fer?’’ 

“So’s teh have more time teh stay. I has teh 
work fer my livin’, yeh know. Got teh be there 
at seven, sharp. Hello, leetle Prince!’’ as he 
caught sight of the baby; “be yeh achin’ teh 
come teh brother Jeff?’’ 


176 S/B yEF'I^BJiSOJV NOBODT 

The baby held out his little hands quite as if 
he had known Jeff all his life, and was caught in 
a rapturous embrace that almost took his breath 
away. 

“Don’t hug him like that,’’ said Mrs. Watson. 
“You’ll squeeze the life out o’ him.’’ 

“He ain’t complainin’,’’ said Jeff, who was 
busy trying to coax the baby to pull his ragged 
coat collar instead of his hair, but it was quite 
evident that his majesty preferred hair. 

“He don’t seem teh be, fer a fact,’’ said Mrs. 
Watson. “It’s cur’us how blood will tell! Any¬ 
body with half an eye would know as how you 
two was kin.’’ 

Jeff kept a discreet silence, and Mrs. Watson 
continued: 

“Now, there’s my childer been a-tryin’ all 
mornin’ teh get ’quainted with him, an’ he won’t 
have nothin’ teh do with ’em.’’ 

Again Jeff hugged the baby rapturously. At 
last he had found someone who loved him better 
than anyone else! -He took it as a sure sign 
that the little fellow was meant to belong to him, 
and way down in his heart he registered a solemn 
resolution that he would keep that baby or die 
in the attempt. 

“Mrs. Watson,’’ he said, pleadingly, “won’t 
you keep the leetle chap a month an’ try him?’’ 

“Oh, I — don’t — know. I hadn’t ought 


teh- 



S/H NOBODY 177 

“I’ll pay yeh.’’ 

“How much?” 

“I can’t pay more’n a dollar a week, ’cause I 
hain’t got it. Couldn’t yeh keep him fer a dol¬ 
lar a week?’’ 

“I couldn’t board an’ clothe him, too-’’ 

“He’s got some clothes, an’ I’ll git some 
more when these are gone. If yeh’ll jes’ board 
him-’’ 

“All right. I’ll try it. A dollar a week, 
remember, paid every Saturday night in ad¬ 
vance. This is Friday. We’ll begin ter-morrer. 
I won’t charge anything fer teh-day.’’ 

“I’ve got teh be gittin’,’’ Jeff said, quite sud¬ 
denly, as he arose and put the baby back into 
the home-made cradle that the youngest Watson 
had but just outgrown. 

There was a scream of remonstrance from the 
little fellow, and Jeff quickly caught the baby 
in his arms again. 

“Yeh mustn’t spoil him that way,’’ said Mrs. 
Watson. 

“I jes’ can’t go ’way an’ leave him cryin’ fer 
me,’’ replied Jeff, ruefully. “Whatever kin I 
do?’’ 

“Give him teh me a minnit. His milk is 
• ready fer him. Now, skip out while he’s drinkin’ 
it. Hurry! He ain’t lookin’ at yeh, now!’’ 

Jeff rushed out of the house as if a bear were 
after him. 



lyS S/Ii JEFFERSON NOBODT 


“Jist teh think,” he said to himself, when he 
was safely outside, “as how there’s somebody in 
the world actchilly crying teh be with Sir Jeffer¬ 
son Nobody. Who’d ’a’ thunk it? Who in time 
would ’a’ thunk it! My golly gracious, it’s a 
heap too good teh be true!” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


But Jeff had something else to do beside con¬ 
gratulate himself on his good fortune, as he very 
soon began to realize. He had assumed the 
responsibility of caring for a helpless little baby, 
in addition to his former burdens, that had 
already seemingly taxed him to the uttermost. 
How was he to do it? He had promised to pay 
a dollar a week for the baby’s board. Where 
was it coming from? He had to keep the baby 
in necessary clothing. How could he hope to 
keep that promise? He looked down at his own 
ragged garments. 

“I couldn’t be much raggeder an’ keep out 
o’ jail,” he soliloquized. ‘‘Don’t look zif I was 
a feller as could keep a baby in clothes, do it? 
But it’s got teh be did, an’ when a thing is got 
teh be did, it’s usually did someway eruther. 
An’, what’s more, that leetle Royal Nobody is 
a-goin’ teh look a deal more scrumptious nor I 
do now.” 

When Jeff reached the place of his daily labor 
he walked straight up to the foreman. 

“Mr. Leigh,” he said, “I’ve been workin’ 
179 


l8o S/B yEBBEBSOJV NOBOD T 

here a good while, an’ I kin do a good many 
things. I’m earnin’ more’n I’m gettin’.” 

“Well,” replied the foreman, in the provok- 
ingly slow way so characteristic of him, “what 
of it?” 

“I want a raise o’ wages.” 

“All right; I’ll tell the bookkeeper to put 
you down for four dollars and a half a week.” 

“Beginnin’ last Monday,” added Jeff. 

“That’s rather a peculiar way of doing busi¬ 
ness, young man. ” 

“Mebbe ’tis; but yeh see, there’s bills as I 
has teh meet, an’ I worked hard all the week.” 

“You get extra pay for extra work, you know. ” 

“Yep; but I’ve got teh have new duds teh 
wear, an’ I’ve got them that’s dependin’ on me. 
Besides, I earned the money.” 

“So you did, Jeff. We won’t quarrel about 
it. You shall have the four and a half a week 
beginning last Monday.” 

Jeff went to his work with a light heart. The 
way was made clear for him to keep the baby a 
little while, at least. He decided not to tell 
King George of his raise in wages, since none of 
the extra pay would go into the home. 

At noon Jeff bought a five-cent bank and 
handed it to Miss Mildred. 

“Please put fifty cents in this for me each 
week,” he said, “an’ put jes’ four dollars in my 
envelope. ” 


S/B JEFFERSON NOBODT l8l 

“What is that for, Jeff?” she asked. 

“I’ll tell yeh some day,” he replied. “I’ve 
got suthin’ pertickler teh do with it.” 

He intended to lay that much aside each 
week, to be spent in necessaries for the baby. 
One dollar would go for the baby’s board, and 
there would still be three dollars left for himself 
and the old man. 

That very day Jeff was paid for his extra 
work, which was now finished. Miss Mildred 
went with him to a store where clothing was sold 
at cut prices, and when he emerged he felt that 
he looked so well that any baby ought to be 
proud of him. 

Jeff ran nearly all the way to Mrs. Watson’s 
house. It was the only way he could manage to 
see the baby a few minutes, for he had no 
thought of neglecting King George. 

“Land sakes!” exclaimed Mrs. Watson, when 
he entered the room. “If the boy don’t look fit 
teh kill! Did yeh ever see sich a puttin’ on o’ 
style!” 

Jeff rushed to the baby who was telling his 
delight at seeing him, in pretty baby sentences 
that sounded like the sweetest of music in Jeff’s 
ears. While he played with the little fellow, he 
told of the extra work he had been doing, and 
how he had determined to make himself look a 
little more decent. 

“I wish’t my younguns had suthin’ half as 


i 82 


S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


good, so I could send ’em teh school,” said Mrs. 
Watson, with a sigh. 

“Don’t they go teh school?” 

“They haven’t since we moved here. My 
man’s been in hard luck the past year, an’ he 
can’t git many things.” 

“What does he do?” 

“Works on a railroad when he gits a chance, 
but there hain’t been much doin’ o’ late. I 
used teh larn ’em a little myself, but I hain’t 
had time o’ late years.” 

Then a new thought came to Jeff—one that 
he considered quite brilliant, for it pointed to a 
way to see the baby without arousing the old 
man’s suspicions. 

“Mrs. Watson,” he said, “I’ll be a-comin’ 
here purty reg’lar teh see the little Prince, an’ 
I’ll larn the children fer yeh!” 

“Yeh will? Wa’al, I call that clever.” 

“I’ll have teh go home every night teh git 
supper, but I’ll hurry an’ git back, an’ we’ll 
have the school early in the evenin’.” 

“Not every night,” expostulated Mrs. Wat¬ 
son. “Every other night will do as a starter, 
fer the younguns must help me half o’ the time. ” 

When Jeff reached Rosebud Villa, he saw 
that the old man was watching for him, as usual. 
King George always sat by the window during 
the summer and autumn, instead of beside the 
stove, as in winter. 


5 /i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 183 


As Jeff drew nearer, he could plainly see the 
smile deepening on the old man’s face, and when 
he entered the room, he was greeted like this: 

“You did get them, didn’t you? I was think¬ 
ing how much you needed them only this morn¬ 
ing, and wishing you’d spend your extra money 
in that way.’’ 

“How do I look? Purty similix?’’ asked Jeff, 
wheeling around before the old man. 

“Fine as a fiddle. I’m proud of you.’’ 

“You’ll be prouder when you hear the news,’’ 
said Jeff. 

“Well, let me hear it.’’ 

“I’m a school-dad!’’ 

The look of bewilderment that this announce¬ 
ment brought into the old man’s face caused 
Jeff to laugh heartily. 

“It’s a fact,” he said. “I’m a school-dad, 
sure’s yeh live. Yeh look zif yeh didn’t b’lieve 
it.” 

“Whom are you going to teach, and what do 
you expect to teach them?” 

“There’s a poor fam’ly a-livin’ down the 
street aways. Hain’t got decent clothes; can’t 
go teh school. I’m a-goin’ teh teach ’em 
every other night.” 

“You will have to learn something yourself if 
you are to help them very much.” 

“I’m goin’ teh put in the other nights 
a-studyin’ with you,” was the reply. 


184 5 //? JEFFERSON NOBOD F 

Little Prince Royal furnished the spark 
needed to fire Jeff’s sleeping ambition. He had 
been able to fight off cold and starvation with 
his salary of three dollars a week, and so had 
been content. His present surroundings were 
more comfortable than any he had known, and 
it had not occurred to him that he might better 
even this condition if he only exerted himself. 
To be sure, he had always had vague dreams of 
a future that was, in some way, to be made very 
glorious; just how he never stopped to con¬ 
sider. They served their purpose when they had 
made the present moment beautiful. Jeff was 
rich in capabilities, but he needed a spur, and 
the baby supplied it. He could accomplish any¬ 
thing if working for one whom he loved. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


Jeff’s school was a success from the start, if 
one could judge by the enthusiasm shown by 
both teacher and pupils. He usually had a 
romp with the baby before beginning work; but 
Mrs. Watson never allowed that to last long, for 
she did not wish the baby’s temper spoiled by 
keeping late hours. Jeff was allowed to rock 
him to sleep, however, and Janie read aloud 
while he did so. He was obliged to admit that 
Janie already could read as fast, if not faster 
than he could, and this thought caused him un¬ 
easiness just at first. Then he remembered how 
Paul read, and what he himself had learned when 
repeating poetry after the old man, and took 
courage. 

Janie looked up expectantly at the close of the 
lesson. She felt that she had acquitted herself 
very creditably. Jeff looked at her seriously. 

“Yeh speak the words well ’nough,” he said, 
“but yeh’r readin’ sounds jes’ like the dronin’ 
o’ bees. Teh read fit fer shucks, yeh must do it 
jes’ as yeh talks. Now, read it over again, a 
leetle at a time, an’ I’ll tell yeh how it oughter 
be did.’’ 


186 S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBODY 

Janie began reading a sentence at a time, Jeff 
repeating it after her, and giving what he con¬ 
sidered the proper emphasis. It was much ex¬ 
aggerated at times, but it made a good impression 
on the others, and was really an improvement 
on Janie’s style. It gave Jeff’s bright mind new 
food for thought, and it would be hard to say 
which learned more, Jeff or Janie. 

Mrs. Watson took the sleeping baby from 
Jeff’s arms, and laid it on the bed in an adjoin¬ 
ing room, and Jeff heard the younger children 
read. Some sheets of brown wrapping paper lay 
on the table. Taking a lead pencil from his 
pocket, he illustrated the lesson as they read. 
“Tom runs teh ketch Ann,’’ he repeated. 
“Here,” pointing to the sketch he had made, 
“yeh kin see him a-doin’ it. Look at his legs! 
There hain’t no walkin’ ’bout them legs. He 
runs—runs, I tell yeh, and when yeh read it, yeh 
must make us understan’ as how he’s got teh 
run, if he ketches up.’’ 

The Watson children were not book-lovers by 
nature, and they had not been too well pleased 
with their mother’s arrangement with Jeff. Now 
they crowded around him, excited and interested 
as to his next move, and soon they were quarrel¬ 
ing among themselves as to the most important 
sentence in the next paragraph, for Jeff had told 
them that only the important sentences were to 
be illustrated. Jeff listened attentively until 


SIR yEI^I^EI^SOJV NOBODr 187 

one of them happened to say something to give 
him an idea, then his fingers worked rapidly 
for a few moments and the picture was done, 
and it always said something. 

Jeff was very happy these days, his only 
trouble being that winter was approaching. 
That gave him something to think about. Lit¬ 
tle Prince Royal needed warmer clothing, and 
more of it, and where was it to come from? All 
day long Jeff puzzled over this new problem, but 
not for one moment did he think of giving the 
baby to some one better able to care for it. The 
more difficult the problem became, the more de¬ 
termined he was to solve it, and without assist¬ 
ance. 

“I s’pose,” he said to himself one morning 
on his way to work, “I s’pose Miss Mildred has 
somethin’ that could be fixed up fer the leetle 
chap, but I won’t ask her for it. My leetle 
Prince shan’t wear begged things. ” Then, as he 
thought of what might happen, he added, “I’d 
beg fer him afore I’d give him up, howsomever. “ 
At that moment he chanced to pass two men 
who were earnestly discussing a celebrated case 
just then being tried at court. 

“There isn’t a particle of doubt but that Van 
Wert will get off,” he heard one of the men say¬ 
ing. “There will be a disagreement of the jury, 

or some law quibble-’’ 

“And poor Jones got sent up for fourteen 



i 8 S S/H^ J^EJ^J^ERSON NOBODT 

years,’* interrupted the other angrily. “Such 
things are enough to make anarchists of us all.’’ 

Jeff passed on out of hearing, but the scrap 
of conversation had served to take his thoughts 
from his financial difficulties and set them to 
work in another direction. When he reached 
the building where he worked, he found that he 
was there before time. He always walked faster 
when his mind was very busy, as it had been this 
morning, and there was time to spare, or, as he 
would have expressed it, time to use. 

Taking a sheet of heavy paper, he quickly 
made a series of sketches, then filled the spaces 
between them with the following explanation: 

“These two fellers went out to steal. One 
took $20,000 fer teh gambol with; t’other took 
$ioo fer his wife an’ fambly cause he didn’t have 
no work.’’ 

Above this explanation two figures • were 
drawn which looked strangely alike, although 
one resembled Jones and the other Van Wert. 
It was really a clever bit of caricature. Then 
followed a picture showing Jones led away by 
two policemen, and Van Wert being helped into 
a carriage by a judge in flowing robes. Under¬ 
neath this picture was written: 

“What the Judge thinks ’bout it. Morrel: 
Git a plenty while yer gittin’.’’ 

The third picture showed a crowd of street 
arabs, part of whom were flinging brickbats at 


S/R yERRERSON NOBOD T 1S9 

Van Wert, while the others led Jones to the car¬ 
riage which they had evidently forced Van Wert 
to vacate. 

Below this picture he had written: 

“What us street boys think ’bout it.” 

It was time to go to work when Jeff had com¬ 
pleted his self-appointed task, and, after a brief 
but affectionate study of it, he hastily rolled it 
up and hid it in an obscure corner of the build¬ 
ing; then made his way to the foreman, of whom 
he asked an hour’s leave of absence. It had 
been so long since he had made a similar request 
that it was granted cheerfully, and the boy was 
soon running toward a street known as “news¬ 
paper row,’’ with his precious manuscript held 
carefully away from his soiled garments. A 
fleeting thought had often presented itself to 
him, and as often been dismissed without a mo¬ 
ment’s consideration. But this morning its re¬ 
ception had been different, for Jeff’s necessities 
had helped him to see in this idea a possible 
solution to the financial problem that was tor¬ 
menting him. 

Jeff went straight to the managing editor of 
one of the largest daily newspapers in the city, 
and spread his paper on the desk. The editor 
looked up with a frown, which relaxed a little 
when he looked into Jeff’s beaming countenance, 
for he was fond of boys, if they were bright, 
earnest and manly, and was known to have a 


190 sin JEFFERSON NOBODT 

strong preference for those who worked for a liv¬ 
ing. He had little patience with the petted dar¬ 
lings of the little Lord Fauntleroy type. 

“Well,” he said, almost gruffly, for he was 
rushed with work; “well, what of it?” 

“Look at it,” replied Jeff, earnestly; “look 
dost. It don’t need no ’splainin’! Mister, 
everybody’s got a show in your paper but workin’ 
lads, an’ we’d like a collum er two.” 

“Oh, this is intended for my paper?” 

“Yeh’ve hit it, mister! Next picter’ll be 
’bout terbacky. I’ll draw a preacher, an’ a p’lice- 
man, an’ a newspaper feller, an’ a daddy, all 
smokin’ fit teh kill, an’ all of ’em goin’ fer a leetle 
lad ’cause he’s got a seegar, an’ tellin’ him as 
how he hain’t big ’nough teh smoke, an’ I’ll 
make him sayin’: ‘Yeh don’t know how big I 
feel.’ I think, mister, as how that’ll be a 
scorcher! I’ll have the next picter show a 
woman leadin’ a dog what has a fine blanket on 
him, an’ I’ll make a naked, shiverin’ leetle chap 
a-sayin’ as how he wishes he had that blanket, 
an’ then, mister, I think I’ll dip inteh polyticks 
a leetle, an’ I’ll draw-” 

Jeff was suddenly interrupted by a peal of 
laughter. The managing editor could control 
his mirth no longer. Jeff had talked rapidly, 
hardly giving himself time for a breath between 
sentences, and while he talked he had drawn the 
outlines of the cigar picture on the sheet of paper 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 191 

lying on the desk; then, quite unconsciously, 
he had turned the paper over, and drawn the 
blanketed dog and the puny child. They were 
the merest outlines, but they told the story. 

“I beg your pardon,” said the editor, gravely, 
in answer to Jeff’s look of mingled grief and 
astonishment. “I chanced to think of some¬ 
thing very funny. ” 

“Was it ’bout my dippin’ inteh polyticks?” 
asked Jeff suspiciously. 

“Well, yes; to tell the truth, that was it.” 

“Wa’al, mebby yeh don’t think it, but I kin 
dip inteh ’em jes’ the same,” replied Jeff, draw¬ 
ing himself up proudly. 

The editor controlled his countenance bravely, 
and took up the paper Jeff had brought with 
him. 

“It isn’t half bad,” he said, musingly, as he 
examined it. 

“Half bad!” exclaimed Jeff, indignantly. “I 
should say ’twa’n’t. It hain’t bad at all! These 
picters says somethin’ so plain that it don’t need 
’splainin’, an’ yeh print lots o’ picters what 
don’t ’splain nothin’!” 

“What is your name, my boy?” 

“Sir Jefferson Nobody.” 

“Your real name, I mean?” 

“Sir Jefferson Nobody. It’s all the name 
I’ve got.” 

“It is somewhat peculiar.” 


192 S/H NOBODY 

“It’s all right; that is, if I live up teh it. I 
dunno how Jefferson got hitched teh me. I’ve 
alwus been called that, an’ I stuck on the fixin’s. 
I’m a nobleman what’s prancin’ ’roun’ in disguise 
’cause I’m down on my luck. That’s why I 
want ye teh pay me fer these picters.’’ 

“Oh, you want pay for them, do you?” 

“Sartin.” 

“How much?” 

“How much’ll yeh give?” 

The editor reflected a moment, then said: 

“I’ve a notion to let you try your hand at 
editing a department that I shall call ‘The Street 
Arab’s Corner.’ You may have from half to 
three-quarters of a column each week, and I’ll 
give you two dollars and a half a week for your 
work.” 

“Two dollars and a half!” 

“Yes, as a starter. You must always have 
copy in promptly on Wednesday. We’ll try it 
for four weeks, and see how it takes. Now, you 
may go, please, for I’m very busy to-day.” 

Jeff started towards the door, then came 
slowly back, the look of perplexity deepening 
on his face. 

“I wants teh ask yeh somethin’,” he said, 
confidentially. “Be honest with a feller, this 
once’t! Is them there marks,” pointing to the 
drawings, “really worth all these here spondu¬ 
licks?” 


S/J? yEF'F'ERSON NOBODY 


193 


“That remains to be seen,” replied the 
editor. “If the people enjoy them they may 
even be worth more than I am giving you.” 

Jeff left the office and went into an alley 
where he would be more nearly alone. 

“Here yeh be, my beauties,” he said, ad¬ 
dressing the silver pieces in his hand. “Yeh’re 
here, an’ it seems zif I didn’t do nothin’ teh git 
yeh ’cept scratch a leetle with a pen. But 
there’s more where yeh come from, an’ I’ll do 
my purtiest scratchin’ teh git ’em, an’ leetle 
Prince Royal shall have jes’ what he needs.” 


CHAPTER XXV 


Jeff had never known a happier winter. The 
baby was growing fast, and had learned to call 
him “Buvver Jeff,” and to say a great many 
other things that Jeff considered remarkable. 
Mrs. Watson’s children were progressing in their 
studies to their mother’s entire satisfaction, and 
Jeff was able to keep ahead of them without the 
least difficulty. It was wonderful how much Jeff 
accomplished. He seemed to use every moment 
to the best possible advantage. While doing the 
necessary work about the house, there was al¬ 
ways a book propped open where he could glean 
a sentence or two at a time as he went from one 
task to another. His work in the office had 
never been done better, and he was always on 
time with his copy for his department in the 
paper. Yet he did not neglect the old man, but 
attended to every want with even greater 
thoughtfulness than when his duties had been 
fewer. He knew how better, for his frequent 
visits to the home of Mrs. Watson had taught 
him how to do many little things that add to 
one’s comfort, and that come naturally to most 


194 


S/Ii JEFFERSON NOBODY 195 

women, but must be learned by most men. Jeff 
was observing. This was the only home, super¬ 
intended by a woman, of which he had any 
knowledge or recollection, so it is not surprising 
that he took mental note of Mrs. Watson’s every 
movement during the hours he spent in her 
home. All her little motherly ways toward the 
baby were of the greatest interest to him, and 
not always because they made the baby comfort¬ 
able, but because, as he said to himself, “Some¬ 
thin’ o’ that sort might chirp King Georgy up a 
bit.’’ 

Jeff never mentioned his home life to Mrs. 
Watson. He was afraid if she knew where he 
lived that she might visit his home and not only 
discover that Prince Royal was not his brother, 
but let King George know that he still kept the 
baby. So, in answer to her questions, he led 
her to believe that he had no regular boarding- 
place, but was in the habit of sleeping wherever 
night chanced to overtake him. Nor did he tell 
King George where the woman lived whose chil¬ 
dren he taught. He had little fear that the poor 
old man would visit her, for King George was 
growing very feeble, and it had been a long time 
since he had been able to leave the house; but 
there was a possibility that he might write and 
ask her to call, for Jeff knew he was deeply 
interested in the evening school, and could never 
hear enough about it. 


196 SIJi ^EFJ^EJ?S 02 \r NOBODT 

The old man had been much more lovable 
since Jeff had begun to study, and he seemed to 
have a warm feeling for the children who had in¬ 
duced the boy to teach them. He believed that 
the simple fact of Jeff’s becoming a teacher was 
wholly responsible for his sudden desire to obtain 
knowledge. It is hard to say how he would have 
felt could he have known the real reason why 
Jeff was determined to be a satisfactory teacher 
and was willing to give so much of his time free 
of charge. It surprised the old man that Jeff 
stuck to his self-appointed task so persistently; 
but, then, he did not know about the baby. 

King George and Jeff now had so little time 
together that it seemed to both that they must 
not waste a moment in idle chatter. Jeff told 
the most interesting events of the day while he 
was getting supper. During the meal the two 
frequently discussed that new department in the 
“Journal,” which was supposed to be edited by 
a street arab. The old man was inclined to be¬ 
lieve that the work was done by some of the 
office help; but Jeff gravely insisted that he be¬ 
lieved it was done by a real “newsie.” He said 
he believed that anyone, working regularly in an 
office, would be able to do better work. The old 
man would reply that he did not believe there 
was a street arab in the city who thought of 
anything but earning a few pennies and spending 
them for cigarettes. The discussion always 


5 //? JEFFERSON NO BOD T 197 

ended by the old man’s saying that if a street 
boy really edited that department, he would 
rather meet him than have a talk with the Presi¬ 
dent of the United States; and Jeff would reply 
that he, too, would like to get a look at the fel¬ 
low. 

Jeff would have given a great deal to be able 
to tell King George that he was editor of that 
department in the “Journal”; but that would 
have led to the questions, “How much do they 
pay you?” and “What do you do with your 
money?” He concluded that it was wiser to 
keep his secrets to himself, for he would have 
felt too much remorse if he had told falsehoods, 
even though the poor boy had never had any 
moral training. 

In one respect it was better for Jeff that the 
old man did not know of his new work, for now 
he had the benefit of his sharpest criticism, and, 
although it hurt, he always profited by it. His 
work for the paper was usually thought out 
during the day, while about his regular duties, 
and put on paper at night after King George 
had gone to bed; then it was carefully concealed 
in a box outside the door, where Jeff could get 
it in the morning when he started for his work 
without being observed. 

Jeff had noticed how much less irritable the 
old man had been of late, and it worried him. 
He feared he was growing too weak to scold. 


198 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

and so one day he consulted with Miss Mildred 
as to the best food for invalids, and as a result 
he came home one evening with several cans of 
beef extract. 

“What in time do you mean to do with that 
stuff?” demanded the old man. 

“Make beef tea fer you,” responded Jeff, 
cheerfully. “Yeh hain’t eatin’ ’nough fer 
shucks these days; now we’ll see ’bout the 
drinkin’. ” 

“What right have you to buy such stuff with¬ 
out consulting me? I won’t touch a spoonful of 
it.” 

Jeff opened the can, procured a tin cup, and 
began to use the beef extract according to direc¬ 
tions. 

“Do you hear?” asked the old man, firmly. 
“I won’t touch a spoonful of it.” 

“Then I’ll git cod-liver oil,” replied Jeff, with 
equal firmness. “That’s next on the list. 
Yeh’ve got teh git strong, an’ yeh’ve got teh 
take somethin’ as’ll git yeh there.” 

“If you bring a drop of cod-liver oil into this 
house, I will throw it into the fire.” The old 
man was waxing furious. 

’Twould make a mighty good fire,” replied 
Jeff, laughing; “but I hain’t afeared. Yeh 
wouldn’t waste nothin’ what costs like cod-liver 
oil. Wood is cheaper. But I’ll buy the oil to 


S/R JEFFERSON NOBODT 199 

be burned, or swallered, if yeh don’t take the beef 
tea. I mean it, King George.” 

Jeff came to the old man, and stood beside 
him, holding out the cup of beef extract. He 
looked as if he meant it. 

“Jeff, why didn’t you ask me before buying 
it?” The old man’s tone was pleading now, for 
he recognized a new power in Jeff, and knew 
that the lad was no longer to be frightened into 
obedience. The tone went straight to Jeff’s 
heart, and his face softened instantly. 

“King Georgy, I wish’t yeh’d take it. Yeh 
don’t act like yerself o’ late, an’ I’m worrin’ 
about yeh. Yeh hain’t strong. Yeh never 
blaze out at me as yeh used teh do-” 

Jeff was interrupted here by the old man’s 
hearty laughter. 

“Is that it, Jeff? Do you miss the scolding? 
Is that why you are worrying? My boy, if you 
want me to ‘blaze out at you,’ you’ll have to go 
back to the boy you used to be.” 

Jeff looked at him in amazement. “I don’t 
jes’ git the sense o’yeh’re meanin’,” he said. 

The old man took the cup and began to drink 
the beef extract. “I used to be out of patience 
with you,” he said, between sips, “because you 
semed so lacking in ambition. You did not try 
to learn or to improve yourself in any way. I 
have always been sure that you might amount to 



200 ^/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

something if you would, and I could not bear 
to think that this sort of life would be the best 
you would ever know. It made me irritable.” 

Jeff turned and went back to his work. For 
several minutes he made no response, but his 
face was working strangely. The old man 
watched him quietly and wished he might read 
his thoughts. Presently Jeff spoke in an embar¬ 
rassed sort of way that was very different from 
his usual effrontery. 

“Why,” he said, as if speaking aloud, “it 
must be yeh like me. Byjiminy! I b’lieve yeh 
do! If yeh didn’t, yeh wouldn’t care how onery 
I be!” 

“Like you, Jeff! Did you think I did not 
like you?” 

“I knowed as how yeh needed me,” replied 
Jeff, “but I s’posed I was doin’ most of the lik¬ 
in’. Yeh see, I hain’t never had no one else 

until-” Jeff stopped, confused. He had 

nearly mentioned the baby. 

“Until when, Jeff?” 

“Oh, I guess some of the folks where I work 
thinks as how I’m purty similix, ” replied Jeff, 
complacently. Then he changed the subject 
quite adroitly, and soon everything was forgotten 
except the lesson which Jeff was rehearsing, for 
this was his evening for teaching, and the old 
man was never satisfied unless he knew that Jeff 
went to his work thoroughly prepared for it. 



SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 201 

Jeff sang and whistled all the way to Mrs. 
Watson’s, and every once in a while he skipped 
along the road like a happy child of seven years. 
His heart was bubbling over with joy at the 
thought that there were two people in the world 
who really cared for him, and all the while he 
had been thinking that there was only one. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


One evening in February when Jeff returned 
home from work, he found the old man lying in 
a heap on the floor. He had fainted, but when 
Jeff saw him so pale and motionless, he thought 
his old companion was dead, and for a moment 
he was helpless with grief and apprehension. 

“King Georgy! Oh, King Georgy!” he called, 
falling upon his knees beside the silent form. 
“Won’t yeh open yer eyes? Won’t yeh speak 
teh me?” 

His voice seemed to reach the old man’s ears, 
for there was a faint fluttering of the eyelids and 
a quick, gasping breath that Jeff did not fail to 
notice. In a moment he had taken the frail form 
into his strong young arms and placed it ten¬ 
derly on his own bed. Then he began to bathe 
his face, and soon had the satisfaction of know- 
ing that he was recognized. 

“Oh, King Georgy!” he exclaimed, a happy 
light in his eyes, “yeh don’t know how warm it 
makes me feel inside teh see yeh lookin’ at 
me!” 

“I must have fainted,” said the old man. 


202 


S/Ji yEirirEI^SOJ\r NO BODY 203 

feebly. “Perhaps you’d better give me a spoon¬ 
ful of beef tea. ’’ 

“Sartin!” replied Jeff, hastening to prepare 
it. “I knowed as how yeh needed it all along, 
but I didn’t know how bad yeh did. How long 
d’ye s’pose yeh laid there on the cold floor?’’ 

“Not long, I guess,’’ replied the old man, 
trying to speak cheerfully. 

“What made yeh do it, anyhow?’’ 

“Oh, I don’t know. Most people are subject 
to fainting fits. ’’ 

“But yeh never did it afore, did yeh? When 
folks is subjec’ to ’em, how often may they look 
for ’em?’’ 

“I may never have another. You mustn’t 
worry about it, my boy.’’ 

“I don’t ’tend teh worry, but I’ve got teh git 
at the bottom facts. I hain’t goin’ teh run no 
risks o’ yeh topplin’ over onto that stove when 
there hain’t no one here teh git yeh off afore 
yeh fry. Here’s the tea. I’ll lift yeh. Don’t 
waste no strength when I’ve got more’n I kin 
use. ’’ 

Jeff raised the old man’s head to his shoulder, 
and supported him while he drank the beef tea; 
then laid him back upon the bed. It surprised 
him that the old man was willing to lie there, 
for, no matter how tired he might look, Jeff had 
never been able to get him to lie down until he 
went to his own bed for the night. 


204 JEFFERSON NO BOD T 

“Why don’t you get supper?” asked the old 
man, fretfully, when several minutes had elapsed, 
during which Jeff had been studying him mere 
seriously than he liked. 

“Are yeh hungry?” asked Jeff, a pleased 
smile lighting up his face. 

“Get supper and I’ll show you,” was the 
gruff reply. 

Jeff flew around with more than his accus¬ 
tomed energy, and soon had an unusually good 
supper on the table. 

“All ready,” he said, cheerfully. “Shall I 
help yeh git up?” 

“I don’t want to get up.” 

Jeff looked at him silently for a moment, 
then drew the table close to the side of the 
bed. 

“Shall I prop yeh up?” he asked. 

“No; I’m all right. Do eat your supper, 
Jeff. You make me nervous. ” 

“Shall I fix somethin’ on yeh’re plate? These 
here warmed-over ’taters are jes’ as yeh like 
’em. ” 

“I don’t care for any to-night. I don’t want 
anything at present. Eat your supper, and after 
a while you may give me some of the tea.” 

Jeff did as he was bidden, but the supper did 
not taste good. He was quite sure now that 
King George was a very sick man. He cleared 
away the dishes quite noiselessly, for the old 


S/B yEjF'jF'BBSOJV NOBOD T 


205 


man seemed to have fallen asleep. After making 
the room as tidy as he could, he went to the 
window and stared out at the snow that seemed 
like a great white sheet shutting him off from all 
the rest of the world. There was no use in get¬ 
ting his books, for he could not study with King 
George so unnaturally quiet on the bed. There 
was a choking in his throat, and he felt that the 
swiftly falling snow was suffocating. 

“If I could jes’ see the road,” he said, “and 
some one would go by, I could git him to send 
up a doctor. “ 

But he could not see the road. The wind 
was rising, and the storm was growing fiercer. 
He was too far from the city to have the benefit 
of street lamps. In all his life he had never felt 
so shut in and lonely. He shivered with a 
nameless dread, and that reminded him that the 
fire needed replenishing. When this was done, 
he went softly to the old man’s side and gently 
touched his forehead with one finger. 

“What is it, Jeff?’’ asked the old man,.with¬ 
out opening his eyes. 

“I was jes’ wonderin’ whatyeh’d do if I went 
out fer a minute.’’ 

“Is it the school again to-night?’’ 

“No; it’s suthin’ else.’’ 

There was a moment’s silence, and Jeff could 
see that the old man did not like the idea of 
being left alone. Finally he said: 


2o6 SIJi JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“I believe, Jeff, dear, that I’d rather you 
wouldn’t go to-night. I am not at all well.” 

“Jeff, dear!” The old man had never called 
him that before, nor had he ever spoken in quite 
so tender a tone. The quick tears came to the 
boy’s eyes, and he could not keep them wiped 
away. 

“I know yeh’re sick,” he sobbed. “That’s 
why I want teh go. I want teh git a doctor.” 

The old man opened his eyes, and taking the 
boy’s hand, drew him down so that his head 
rested beside his own. 

“Laddie,” he said, stroking the rough hair, 
“don’t take it like that. Whatever comes, you 
are better off without me than with me.” 

“Don’t, King George, don’t! Yeh hain’t 
a-goin’ teh die, be yeh?” 

“Not just yet, I fancy; but, laddie, it must 
come some time. I’m an old man now, and I’ve 
been helpless and worthless for a long time.” 

“Yeh hain’t, no sich thing! Oh, King 
Georgy, King Georgy, this has been sich a nice 
home, an’ I couldn’t a’ had it if it hadn’t been 
fer you. ” 

The old man looked around the shabby walls 
of the bare little room, and a half smile crept 
over his pale lips. 

“A nice home!” he murmured. “A nice 
home! Poor boy, he is easily satisfied.” 


s/m yEj^j^£:ji!soj\r nobodt 207 

“Can’t I go fer a doctor?’’ pleaded Jeff. 
“I’ll run every step of the way.’’ 

“I don’t want a doctor. I don’t need one, 
and we can’t afford it. Besides, I don’t want to 
stay alone. ’’ 

“But mebbe yeh’ll git wusser.’’ 

“No, I shan’t. Don’t worry, I tell you. 
I’ve taken care of myself all my life, and I know 
what I’m talking about.’’ 

There was a wrathfulness in the old man’s 
tone that Jeff found reassuring. It was more 
natural than the way he had been speaking, and 
Jeff’s heart beat hopefully. Perhaps King 
Georgy wasn’t so very sick, after all. 

All through the long night Jeff sat beside the 
old man’s bed. It was his first experience of the 
sort, and it was terrible. The wind increased 
to a gale, and the snow fell steadily. The little 
house groaned and quivered, and it was difficult 
to keep enough fire in the stove to make the 
room endurable. The old man slept fitfully, 
and when asleep he often sighed as if in pain. 
When awake he always insisted that he was bet¬ 
ter, and that Jeff might as well lie down beside 
him. Along toward morning he became deliri¬ 
ous, and talked of his old home in England, and 
of his father and mother and Lisette. 

“I s’pect Lisette was his sister,’’ thought 
Jeff. “Poor King Georgy. He must ’a’ had a 


3 o 8 


S/Ji yEF'J^EjRSOJV NOBODY 


nice home once’t. I wonder who’s got it 
now?” 

‘‘It’s pretty, isn’t it, Gilbert?” asked the old 
man, quite suddenly, and Jeff saw that he was 
looking at him with wide-open, eager eyes. 

“I guess yeh’re dreamin’. King Georgy,” he 
said, bending over him, but the old man paid no 
attention. “He must be out o’ his head,” was 
Jeff’s conclusion. “I’ve read ’bout sich things; 
but I don’t know what I kin do with him.” 

“I knew you’d like the old place,” continued 
the old man, “See that big oak over there? 
You’ll find a seat in its branches that I put there 
when I was about your age. I always meant to 
bring you and Lisette back to the old place.” 

Jeff was frightened. He ran out of the room 
and called loudly for help, knowing all the time 
that no one could hear his voice in such a storm, 
even though there were anyone unfortunate 
enough to be out in it. But the effort seemed to 
afford him a little relief, and the lump in his 
throat became less troublesome. 

“Whatever happens,” he said, “I must git 
my coat on an’ go fer a doctor. While he’s 
loony he won’t miss me, an’ I’ll run as I never 
did afore. ” 

He hurried into the house, determined to 
carry out this plan; but there on the floor, half¬ 
way between the bed and the door, the old man 
lay unconscious. He had been aroused by the 


SIjR yEI^jFEjRSON NOBODY 209 

sound of Jeff’s calling, and had started to the 
door to assure the boy that he was all right. 

Once more Jeff picked him up and put him 
on the bed. His head had struck a corner of a 
chair as he fell, and there was an ugly blue spot 
on his forehead. Jeff applied brown paper wet 
in vinegar, as he had seen Mrs. Watson do v/hen 
one of the children had a similar bruise, and the 
vinegar restored the old man to consciousness. 
He looked at Jeff and smiled faintly, but he 
seemed too weak to speak. With an aching 
heart, Jeff took his place beside the bed. He 
saw that whatever else might happen, he could 
not leave the old man alone for a moment. He 
must wait until morning, and try to catch the 
attention of some passer-by. 

But the storm did not abate with the morn¬ 
ing. The house was built at some distance from 
a road that was seldom traveled, and if anyone 
passed that day Jeff was not fortunate enough 
to see him. Although his experience with sick¬ 
ness had been so limited, he knew that the old 
man was steadily growing worse. He had 
seemed to be sleeping quietly for several hours, 
and, after changing his mind many times, Jeff 
finally decided to leave him alone long enough to 
procure the service of a doctor. 

It was a hard walk through the drifting snow, 
and Jeff was nearly breathless when he entered 
the office of the nearest doctor. 


210 S/Ji yEIf'FERSOJV NOBODY 

“Oh, come quick!” he cried, steadying him¬ 
self by holding fast to the door. “Come quick. 
I’m ’fraid he’s dyin’!” 

“Who?” asked the doctor, impatiently. He 
did not like the idea of going out again in such a 
storm. 

“I’ll show you,” gasped Jeff, with one hand 
held close over his laboring heart. 

“Who is sick?” repeated the doctor. 

“My King Georgy,” faltered Jeff, who had a 
sudden fear that the doctor did not mean to 
come. “Oh, please come teh see him. Here,” 
taking two silver dollars, “I’ll pay yeh this now, 
an’ as much as yeh want jes’ as quick as I git it 
earned.” 

“How far?” was the next question. 

“Not more’n a mile.” 

“A mile, and in this storm!” 

“Mebbe not so far,” was the eager response; 
“I runned every step.” 

“I judge so,” smiling a little. “Well, sit 
down, while I order my carriage.” 

It seemed to Jeff that hours must have 
passed since he left the little room; but when he 
opened the door, he was relieved to see the old 
man lying just as he had left him. 

“I can do very little for him, my boy,” said 
the doctor gently, as he turned away from the 
bed, after having made a careful examination of 
his patient. 


S/I^ ^BI^FBJ^SOJV NOBODr 2li 

“Does yeh mean he’s a-goin’ teh die?’’ The 
grief in Jeff’s voice was heart-rending and tears 
of sympathy filled the doctor’s eyes. 

“Yes, lad; that is what I mean. He must 
have been sick a long time. Is he your father?’’ 

“No; but I like him better’n any father what 
ever lived! He’s all I’ve got, ’cept the baby.’’ 

“Your brother?’’ 

“No; a ’dopted baby,’’ in a whisper. “King 
Georgy don’t know ’bout him.’’ 

“Do you and this man live here alone?’’ 

“Yes.’’ 

“Is there no one you can get to come here and 
stay with you until it is all over?’’ 

“What fer? Can’t I tend teh him?’’ 

“You can do all that will be necessary, I sup¬ 
pose—but don’t you understand, he is dying?’’ 

“Can’t anyone make him well?’’ 

“No one can help him in the least. But 
wouldn’t you rather have some one with you?’’ 

“He wouldn’t like it. He didn’t want me teh 
git you. He jes’ wants me teh stay with him.’’ 

“I presume he will not again regain conscious¬ 
ness. He won’t be likely to know-’’ 

“If I kin do as well by him as anyone else. 
I’ll stay alone,’’ replied Jeff, gravely. “If he 
should wake up he’d rather see me alone.’’ 

“Well, I’ll drop in again in the morning. I 
think he is sure to live through the night.’’ 

The old man slept quietly until a little after 



212 JEFFERSON NOBODT 

midnight, then suddenly and unexpectedly 
opened his eyes. Jeff was beside him in an in¬ 
stant, for although this was his second night of 
watching he had not closed his eyes for a mo¬ 
ment. 

“Does ye know me. King Georgy?” he asked 
softly. 

“It will soon be over, Jeff,” replied the old 
man, feebly. “I’m going. Say you forgive me, 
laddie. For all that has happened, say that you 
freely forgive me.” 

“Oh, be yeh out o’ yer head ag’in?” wailed 
Jeff, the look of hope fading away from his face. 

“When I’m gone, Jeff, you’ll find a letter that 
will tell you a great many things. Promise me 
that you’ll not let it make you hate me.” 

“King Georgy, I don’t know what yer talkin’ 
’bout, but I do know there hain’t nothin’ as 
could make me hate you. I love yeh so much 
that I don’t know how teh tell it.” 

The old man smiled. “Then come and kiss 
me,” he whispered. 

Jeff had never kissed anyone but little Prince 
Royal, and for a moment he hesitated, overcome 
with bashfulness; then he noticed the look of 
pleading in the old man’s eyes, and in a moment 
he was kissing him as he would had he been his 
own father, again and again, on lips and cheek 
and brow. 

The old man grew strangely quiet after this. 


S/I^ JEFFERSON NOBOD T 213 

and Jeff noticed that the hand he held was grow¬ 
ing cold. He hastened to replenish the fire, and 
softly chafed the thin hands and feet. It was 
not until some moments after the old man had 
ceased breathing that Jeff relaxed his efforts to 
warm the body. Then he looked at him long 
and sorrowfully, and throwing himself on the 
bed beside him, he cried as he had never cried 
in all his life before. 

“King Georgy,” he said, kissing him as he 
had kissed him just before he died, “oh, my 
own darlin’ King Georgy, what kin I do now?” 


CHAPTER XXVII 


The doctor came very early the next morning, 
for he had been haunted all through the night 
by the memory of the lonely boy and his dying 
companion. 

“It is as I had expected,” he said, looking at 
the quiet form. “When did it happen, my boy?” 

Jeff told him. “An’ he knowed me,” he 
concluded. “Yeh said as how he wouldn’t, but 
he did.” 

“Did he speak?” 

Jeff nodded. His eyes had filled with tears. 

“What did he say?” 

“He said—he said—would I—I—I’d rather 
not tell it. He knowed me, but he didn’t know 
jest ’xactly what he was sayin’.” 

Jeff could not bring himself to say that the 
old man had asked his forgiveness, even though 
he believed him to be delirious. It was too 
much as if he had done something for which he 
needed to be forgiven, and the loyal boy had 
never entertained such a thought for a moment. 

“What is your name, my boy?” asked the 
doctor, taking a seat beside Jeff. He was 
214 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


215 


Strangely drawn to the lad, and felt that he could 
not leave without being sure that he knew where 
to look for necessary assistance. 

“Sir Jefferson-’’ began Jeff; then he 

broke down and wept like a baby. 

“Tell me all about it, “urged the good doctor, 
when Jeff had again obtained control of himself. 

“I s’pose I hain’t got no name,“ said Jeff. 
“I’ve alwus ben called Jeff, an’ one day I named 
myself Sir Jefferson Nobody. An’ he,” pointing 
to the bed, “was King George. He never telled 
me his other name, but I guess he had a good 
one. I named this house Rosebud Villa. Yeh 
see, it was easier livin’ teh make everythin’ kind 
o’ grand an’ pleasant like; but now there ain’t 
no King Georgy, an’ I’m feared this won’t seem 
like Rosebud Villa without him. An’—an’—I 
don’t know’s I kin git up the spunk teh be Sir 
Jefferson Nobody any more.” 

“You will not feel like this always, my lad. 
It will begin to be easier after a while. There’ll 
be other duties—some one else to love and work 
for-’’ 

“Oh, there is!” suddenly exclaimed Jeff. 
“I’d plumb forgot my leetle Prince Royal!” 

“Who is he?” 

“Oh, he’s a baby I ’dopted. I’m boardin’ 
him out. He hain’t got no folks, neither.” 

“Have you been supporting the old man, the 
baby and yourself?” 




2i6 


S/Jd yEJ^I^BJRSOJV NOBODT 


“Yep. I works reg’lar. Oh,” as another 
thought flitted across his mind, “mebbe I’ve lost 
my place! I didn’t go down yistehday, an’ 
they said as how I’d lose it if ever I stayed away 
ag’in.” 

“They’ll excuse you this time,” replied the 
doctor, smiling a little at the thought of what 
might have occurred to occasion the making of 
so peremptory a rule. “And now we must make 
the poor old man ready for his final resting place. ’ ’ 

With his own hands the kindly doctor pre¬ 
pared the poor old body for burial, and while he 
worked he asked questions that would give him 
a better insight into the life led by the odd in¬ 
mates of this poverty-stricken home. 

“We must bury him to-morrow,” said the 
doctor. “Have you any money?” 

“Purty near a dollar.” 

“You will need at least ten dollars for the 
grave. Then there is the coffin and the hearse. 
I think, Jeff, we must get help from the city.” 

“Like beggars!” exclaimed Jeff. “Oh, no! 
Oh, no, no, no! I can’t do that! He hated 
poorhouses an’ sich, an’ he was alwus afeared 
we’d have teh go there some day. I can’t let 
him be a beggar, now! Can’t you lend me some 
money, doctor? I’ll pay ev’ry cent an’ int’rest 
—big int’rest, if yeh’ll only help me out. I git 
five dollars a week, ’sides what my writin’ 
brings. ” 













































































5 //? JEFFERSON NOBOD T 217 

“Your writing?” 

Then Jeff told about his department in the 
paper, and the doctor’s face cleared. 

“I know the editor of the ‘Journal,’ ” he 
said, “and between us I guess we can lend you 
the money. I’ll make all arrangements for you. 
What minister shall I bring?” 

“Does there have teh be a minister?” 

“I’d have one if I were you.” 

“Wa’al, bring anyone yeh want teh.” 

“What friends shall I notify?” 

“What fer?” 

“To go to the cemetery with you.” 

“I don’t want nobody. King Georgy didn’t 
like teh have folks ’round, an’ I hain’t a-goin’ teh 
pester him now. ” 

“Very well. I’ll be here to-morrow at ten. 
We can’t very well make arrangements to bury 
him before that. Now, shall I not send some 
one to stay with you until that time?” 

“No! No, I don’t want no one.” 

“But the time will be very long if you at¬ 
tempt to spend it alone.” 

“After teh-morrow at ten I won’t never see 
him no more,” said Jeff, simply. “I’d rather 
’twould be us two alone, jes’ as it has alwus ben. ” 

“But it is different now,” urged the doctor, 
who felt that he could not remain longer, yet 
who could not bear to leave Jeff alone with his 
dead. 


2i8 


5/i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 


“He won’t speak teh me,’’ replied Jeff, brok¬ 
enly, “but I kin look at him an’ purtend he’s 
jes’ a-sleepin’.’’ 

So the doctor went his way, but he resolved 
to look in again that evening. He respected the 
boy’s wishes too much to send anyone to the 
house without his permission, but he decided 
that Jeff must not remain alone again that night. 

“I like the boy,’’ he said that day at dinner 
to his wife, to whom he had told the strange 
story of King George and Sir Jefferson Nobody. 
“There’s good stuff in him. He strikes me as 
honest, fearless, warm-hearted and absolutely 
unselfish.” 

“Why not bring him home with you after the 
funeral?” asked his wife. 

“That is exactly what I wish to do, my dear. 
If we liked him, on closer acquaintance, we 
give him a permanent home, might we 

not?” 

“Perhaps. Let us get better acquainted with 
him before making such plans, however. And I 
want to tell you that I think you are right in 
lending him the money for the funeral expenses. 
Even if you never get it again-” 

“My dear,” interrupted the doctor, “if that 
boy lives I’ll get every cent of it.” 



CHAPTER XXVIII 


From the time Jeff had known that the old 
man must die up to the time of the doctor’s sec¬ 
ond visit, the poor lad had thought of nothing 
except that the pleasant days in the old shanty 
were at an end. Life in Rosebud Villa, although 
made up of hard work and many deprivations, 
had been very pleasant to the homeless boy, and 
at first it seemed to him as if his own life were 
broken off and there was absolutely nothing be¬ 
yond the present. The doctor’s second visit had 
changed that. When he left, Jeff began plan¬ 
ning for Prince Royal. 

“He’ll hev teh stay where he is fer a while,’’ 
he said, “’cause he’s too leetle teh stay here 
alone durin’ the day; but some day the leetle 
Prince an’ I will live here together.’’ 

Then came a sudden thought that there were 
homes better suited to boys than that could ever 
be, and Jeff’s brow clouded. 

“It’s better fer him at Mis’ Watson’s,’’ he 
said, “but she won’t board him alwus. An’ she 
said once’t as how hers was a poor home fer any 
chil’.’’ 


219 


220 S/Ji yEjFI^EIiSOJV NOBODr 

Jeff was silent for a long time after this; then 
he raised his head from the table, where it had 
been buried in his arms, and went over to the 
bedside. 

“This alwus seemed a good ’nough home fer 
us. King Georgy; but I kin see as how it won’t 
do fer the leetle feller. I’ve got teh git some¬ 
thin’ that’s as good as there is, an’ I ’ve got teh 
I’arn teh git ’long in this here ole shanty ’thout 
you, ’cause I kin live here cheaper nor anywhere 
else, an’ it’ll take a pile teh git a proper home 
fer the Prince. ’’ 

That thought brought back a recollection of 
his work. Suppose his place at the hide and fur 
establishment had been filled during his absence? 
When he had absented himself that day to help 
Paul he had been told that he would be dis¬ 
charged next time he did such a thing, and for 
nearly two days he had given no account of him¬ 
self. 

“In course I kin git suthin’ else teh do,’’ he 
said, hopefully, “an’ it can’t worry King George 
now; but there’s the money I’m a-goin’ teh 
borry o’ the doctor. I want teh git some pay¬ 
ments in quick so’s he won’t think as how I’m 
a-cheatin’ him.’’ 

While these reflections had been passing 
through Jeff’s mind he had gone to work me¬ 
chanically to put the room in order. When that 
task was finished to the best of his ability, he 


S/H yEFJ^EJ^SOJV NOBODr 221 

remembered that he had not yet had his break¬ 
fast. He took a step in the direction of the 
cupboard, then abruptly turned away, his eyes 
filling with tears. 

“It’s no use. King Georgy,’’ he said; “I 
can’t eat with yeh a-layin’ there so still.’’ 

It was nearly noon when Jeff chanced to think 
of the little attic room where the old man had 
slept. 

“P’raps there’s suthin’ up there as he’d like 
teh have buried with him,’’ he said to himself. 

He went to the foot of the stairs, then turned 
away. It seemed to him as if it would be prying 
into the old man’s secrets, and such a thought 
was abhorrent to the boy’s honest nature. 

“But I must go sometime,’’ he decided, “an’ 
this may be my only afternoon off, an’ there may 
be suthin’ as ought teh be buried with King 
Georgy. ’’ 

It was a very dirty room into which Jeff made 
his way. Two or three times a year the old man 
had been in the habit of placing a mysterious 
bundle on the bed, which was always carefully 
covered with the bedclothes; then Jeff was sent 
up to sweep the room, but with strict orders not 
to touch the bed. The old man had known that 
he would not so much as lift a corner of the 
blanket without permission. 

It must have been that the old man contem¬ 
plated the long-delayed clearing up, upon the 


232 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBOD T 

evening of the day when he was taken with his 
last illness, for Jeff found everything as he had 
been accustomed to finding it. It was with a 
feeling of awe that he gently drew aside the worn 
and dirty blanket, revealing a wooden model of 
a curious bit of machinery and an oaken chest 
about two feet long, a foot wide and a foot high. 
The chest was locked, but Jeff found a key in 
the old man’s pocket which fitted. Upon rais¬ 
ing the cover, the first thing he saw was a long 
envelope directed to “Sir Jefferson Nobody.’’ 

“Oh, he’s writ teh me!’’ exclaimed Jeff, in a 
half-whisper, and a pleased look came into his 
face. It was like hearing the voice of his friend 
after having given up all hope of ever hearing it 
again. He quickly locked the box, without 
waiting to see what else it contained, and carried 
the precious letter downstairs, where the light 
was better. 

“ My dear boy,” he read, ” you will be greatly sur¬ 
prised when I tell you that you are my own son. Your 
real name is Gilbert Roswell Jefferson. Roswell is your 
mother’s maiden name. She left me when you were less 
than a year old and went on the stage, for which she 
had always had a yearning. She took you with her, but I 
stole you away soon afterward and put you in the poor- 
house, from which I expected to take you again very 
soon. But the months crept into years, and I never felt 
able to do so. Finally, I learned that you had run away, 
and for several years I got no clue as to your where¬ 
abouts. Then, one day, you came to my door. I knew 


S/jR yEFFERSON NOBODT 


223 


you immediately, for you look like my people, although 
you have your mother’s eyes. You had evidently been 
called by your last name until you had quite forgotten 
that you ever had another. Of our life together since that 
day there is no need of my speaking. 

“Why did I not tell you of all this before? My son, 
I could not. There has not been one day since we have 
lived together that I have not resolved to tell you all 
when you should come home at night, but I.never car¬ 
ried out the resolution. Why? Simply through fear of 
consequences. To own our relationship was to assume 
responsibility, and I was afraid it would end in my being 
obliged to spend money on you. I knew that you would 
support me, then, as you had supported me since coming 
to live in this miserable house; but I was afraid that the 
little spark of manhood left in me would compel me to 
give you the education that I wanted you to have, and 
hoped you would some day get for yourself. 

“My dear boy, your father is a miser. You may 
think that is not a condition which could not be over¬ 
come, for you are more like your mother than you are 
like me, and it will be hard for you to understand what 
the love of money means. 

“Do you think that I have not suffered? Oh, my 
boy, I hope God will never let you bear one-half the 
sorrow that has been my portion! In looking back upon 
my life I can see how much better it might have been, 
how much misery I have brought upon myself and 
others, and how little happiness has fallen to my share; 
but I cannot see that I have been entirely to blame, for 
the beginning of it all I cannot find. 

“Your grandfather was twice married. He had one 
son by the first wife, and, of course, that son was his 
rightful heir, for the estate was strictly entailed. I was 
the eldest son of the second wife, to whom it was always 
a grief that her boy would be comparatively penniless. 


224 


SIR JEFFERSON NO BOOT 


All her little wealth was carefully hoarded and invested 
for me, and I was brought up with the idea that I must 
be very careful in all my expenditures; for sometime, 
somehow, I must be richer than my brother. 

“One of my mother’s plans for me was that I was to 
marry into a wealthy family. Just before my twenty- 
first birthday I met your mother, fell in love with her, 
and married her within a fortnight. She came of a 
respectable family, noted for their fine minds, but ex¬ 
ceedingly poor in this world’s goods, and I was promptly 
disinherited. The money which was to have reverted to 
me upon attaining my majority was transferred to a 
brother, two years younger than myself. 

“ I went out from that home fully determined never 
to see it again until the great wealth I meant to obtain 
should procure me a welcome. I am a rich man, Gilbert, 
but I have not seen the old home since the day I left, 
and long ago I knew I should never again set foot on 
English soil. 

“ In the oaken chest you will find a will, properly exe¬ 
cuted, making you my heir. There are also other papers 
necessary to establish your identity. I have known, for 
a long time, that my life was nearly ended, and have 
made every preparation for my son. I want you to fit 
yourself for the life of an English gentleman. Do not 
squander your money, but try to remember that it repre¬ 
sents your father’s body, perhaps his soul. When you 
have made a gentleman of yourself, go and visit my peo¬ 
ple. I fully believe that they will be proud of you, for 
you are a better and braver man, now, than your father 
has ever been. 

“Gilbert, my boy, try not to blame your father too 
much. You can’t knowhow I have longed to make a 
gentleman out of you, while I lived, or how hard were the 
battles I fought, but love of money has always conquered. 
I could not let it go while I lived, even though we might 


S/jR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


225 


starve. It was my love of money that drove your mother 
from my home. I loved her, but I loved money more. 
When she left I felt that my life was ruined, but, although 
I knew I could bring her back by showing a desire to 
make her comfortable, I simply could not do it. You 
were our third child. The other two, a boy and a girl, 
had died of exposure and lack of care during an attack 
of scarlet fever. I pleaded poverty, but all the while I 
was a comparatively wealthy man. I am as responsible 
for the death of your brother and sister as if I had mur¬ 
dered them, yet I loved them. I suffered—oh, how I 
suffered! but I could not spend my precious dollars. 
Night after night I have seen my children in my dreams, 
and always they seemed pleading for you. Night after 
night I have awakened in tears, and my heart has gone 
out to you, and I have felt like calling you to my side, 
but always the better impulse has been crushed beneath 
the thought that it might lead to financial expenditure. 

“ My son, I am keeping nothing back. I want you to 
understand that I fully realize how greatly I have sinned 
—that I have always realized it—that I have suffered as 
only a man of education and refinement can suffer—yet 
that I was powerless when it came to fighting with my 
love for money. You have a tender heart. I feel that 
you will not despise me utterly, and that you will not 
squander recklessly what I have toiled so hard to gain. 
I stole you, hoping that I might thereby bring your 
mother back to me; but although I know she tried in 
every way in her power to find you, I never saw her 
except on two occasions when I purchased a ticket 
admitting me to the gallery in a theater where she had 
been advertised to appear. 

“ My love for money has made an old man of me, 
while I am yet in the prime of life. You were born on 
my thirty-second birthday, and on the first day of next 
May you will be seventeen years of age. I am not yet 


236 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 


forty-nine years old, but I look and feel older than my 
father did at seventy-five. 

“ I wish you to push my invention for all it is worth. 
In the oaken chest you will find full directions as to how 
to proceed. I know it to be valuable, and I trust to it 
to preserve my name from the oblivion I deserve. The 
model has been completed some time, but I could not 
bring myself to spend the money necessary to put my 
work on the market, although I have suffered tortures in 
the fear that my idea might occur to another who would 
act upon it. 

“And now, my boy, I must bid you a long farewell, 
for I am very tired. All my strength, for days, has gone 
into the writing of this letter. You have been a good son 
to me, although you did not guess you were caring for 
your father. You have made me love you, and these last 
years of my life have been happier because of you. I 
am proud of you, too, for I see that you have every 
quality that goes to the making of a good, noble and 
influential man. I am glad to die, for I know that as 
long as I live you will be hampered, and kept out of your 
rightful place in the world. I know, too, that you may 
be trusted with the fortune I shall leave you. Gilbert, 
my son, my son! Do not forget that the best of my life 
has gone into its accumulation. 

“ Your wretched father, 

“George Henry Jefferson.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


It was almost dark when Jeff finished reading 
his letter, for he had been stopped many times 
by the blinding tears that could not be kept 
back. He went to the bed and looked down upon 
his father’s quiet form. 

“If I could only ’a’ knowed as how I had a 
father I couldn’t ’a’ loved yeh more,’’ he 
sobbed; “but I’d ’a’ tried harder teh please yeh. 
I’d ’a’ kep’ stiddy teh my books teh please yeh, 
’stead o’ waitin’ fer leetle Prince Royal teh prick 
me up teh study. An’ mebby—jes’ mebby—I 
wouldn’t ’a’ kep’ the leetle feller when yeh 
didn’t want me teh.’’ 

It was like Jeff that not for one moment did 
he hold any feeling of resentment toward his 
father. That he had any rights that his father 
should have respected did not occur to him. 
His only complaint was that he had not been al¬ 
lowed to feel the blessed tie of relationship— 
to love and care for the old man as his very 
own. 

It was late in the evening when the good doc¬ 
tor arrived. Jeff had not expected him, and he 
227 


228 


SIR JEFFERSON NOBODY 


was deeply touched by this unlooked-for token 
of friendliness. 

“Yeh hadn’t ought teh come when yeh’re so 
busy, an’ yeh can’t do no good,” he said, hand¬ 
ing the doctor a chair. 

“Are you not glad to see me?” asked the 
doctor, pleasantly. 

“Hain’t I, though?” exclaimed Jeff, fer¬ 
vently. As he started to resume his former seat 
on the edge of the bed, the doctor noticed that 
he staggered. 

“Jeff,” he said, “have you eaten anything to¬ 
day?” 

“Nop,” replied Jeff, an expression of surprise 
crossing his face. “I did ’low teh git some 
breakfas’, but—but ’twas lonesome, an’ I thunk 
I’d wait a while. I didn’t think nothin’ more 
’bout it. ” 

The doctor took a can of beef extract from 
his satchel. 

“I’ve got some o’ that,” said Jeff, quickly. 
“I got it for King—fer—fer my father.” 

The doctor glanced up quickly, but noting the 
pale face and sharpened features wisely forbore 
to question him. 

“All right,” he said, putting the can back. 
“I’ll use yours and save this for some one else. 
Here, drink this,” handing him a cup into which 
he had poured a little cordial. “This will give 
you strength to help me build a fire. The 


SIR yEjrirEI^SOJV NOBOD T 229 

house is as cold as a wood-shed. You should 
not have allowed the fire to go out.” 

“I plumb fergot,” confessed Jeff. “Yeh see, 
King—my father—didn’t feel it none, an’ so 
’twas easy teh fergit. ” 

The doctor soon had a fire, with Jeff’s help, 
and when the beef tea was ready, he made Jeff 
eat a large bowlful into which he had broken a 
thick slice of bread. When the empty bowl was 
placed on the table, he turned to Jeff and 
said: 

“Now, my boy, tell me all about it.” 

Without a word Jeff handed him his father’s 
letter. When the doctor had read the last word, 
he folded it carefully, and handed it back. 

“Gilbert,” he said, “how very glad you must 
be to know that you were a good son to your 
father!” 

It was just what he should have said to win 
Jeff’s heart. Had there been one word of criti¬ 
cism as to the old man’s conduct Jeff would not 
have forgiven him. 

“I’m glad he thunk so,” replied Jeff, “but, 
oh, I wa’n’t as good as I mought have ben, an’ 
that hurts. ” 

“Still, I think you did as well as you knew 
how. ” 

“Mebbe. I wa’n’t used teh havin’ fathers, 
yeh know. P’rhaps I wouldn’t ’a’ knowed how 
teh do any better if he’d telled me he b’longed 


230 S/B yEF'JF'EHSOAr NOBOD r 

teh me. I wish I could know how ’twould seem 
teh call him father an’ have him hear me.” 

“Have you called him father since reading 
this letter?” asked the doctor, curiously. 

“A hundred times. It seems good teh say it, 
an’ know as how I hain’t portendin’.” 

“Well, I fancy he heard you. I like to think 
that the spirits of our dead friends are very 
near us when we miss them sorely.” 

“Dr. Horton, I like yeh jes’ tip-top!” 

There was no doubt that Jeff meant what he 
said, and the doctor smiled and held out his 
hand, clasping Jeff’s in a way that did the boy 
good. 

“I’m glad you like me, Gilbert; but I want 
you to trust me also. I think you need a true 
friend now more than you ever did before. May 
I be that friend?” 

“If yeh really want teh,” replied Jeff almost 
bashfully. 

“Well, then, let me help you examine th*e con¬ 
tents of that chest. Where is it? Upstairs? 
Suppose I go up with you.” 

Jeff hesitated a moment, then led the way to 
the little room overhead. 

“I can’t make it seem jest right teh tech them 
things, ’ ’ he said, ‘‘fer he was very pertickler ’bout 
it alwus; but in course it’s got teh be did now.” 

They found the will, a marriage license, a 
record of the birth of the three children, a roll 


6’Zff JEFFERSON NOBODT 231 

of newspaper clippings telling of the triumphs of 
a certain Mademoiselle Susette Du Prey, a letter 
or two beginning “Dearest George,” and signed 
“Your loving little wife,” and two photographs, 
one bearing the name of Jeff’s father, the other 
that of his mother. 

Jeff snatched the pictures from the doctor’s 
hands, and studied them long and earnestly. 

“My,” he said, under his breath, “hain’t she 
a stunner! An’ she’s my mother! Doctor, she 
looks jest ’xactly as she oughter. I don’t think 
as how I’d ’a’ cared much ’bout her, if she’d 
looked any other way.” 

“She was certainly very pretty,” said the 
doctor, “and she has a good face, too. Your 
father was also fine-looking in those days.” 

“D’yeh know, this picter feels teh me more 
like my father than—than King Georgy down 
there! But then I’ve alwus pertended as how 
all my folks was grand an’ beautiful. These 
picters is all right! I’ve ben lookin’ fer picters 
that I could hang up an’ call my folks, but I 
never seen any before that seemed quite good 
’nough. ” 

“See here, Jeff.” The doctor handed him a 
card containing photographs of two children. 

“Your brother and sister, I suspect,” he said; 
“and this,” looking at a tiny picture of a very 
fat baby, “must be yourself. Your name is 
written on the back.” 


233 


sin yEnnEnsoiv nobodt 


Jeff took the picture, then laughed outright. 

“The leetle rascal!” he exclaimed. “I 
wa’n’t never so fat as that! Why, it looks more 
like Prince Royal.” 

“Prince Royal?” echoed the doctor. “Who 
may that be?” 

“He’s my ’dopted brother,” replied Jeff. 

“Yeh see, I didn’t know as how I had any 
folks, an’ I wanted some one all my own, an’ 
when the woman left the baby in the bushes I 
took him. Yeh ought teh see him. Doctor Hor¬ 
ton! I’ll bet there hain’t ’nother chap like him 
in the whole city. ” 

“You must let me see him some day,” said 
the doctor quietly. He had determined to take 
everything the boy might tell him as something 
to be expected and not at all unusual, hoping in 
that way to win his entire confidence. 

“Do you pay the baby’s board?” he asked. 

“Yes. He wouldn’t ’a’ seemed like mine if I 
hadn’t. It’s ’cause o’ him that I begun work- 
in’ fer the ‘Journal.’ The leetle chap had teh 
have clothes, an’ I didn’t know how else teh git 
’em, fer it took all I earned at the Hunter’s Pal¬ 
ace teh keep King—my father—an’ me a-goin’.” 

“Gilbert, I think you are done with that sort 
of thing forever. ” 

While Jeff had been talking the doctor had 
been examining a bundle of papers that he had 
found in a tin box. “You have mining property. 


S/Ii NOBODT 233 

bank stock and government securities enough to 
make you comfortable all your life if you are 
careful,” he added. “I wonder what we shall 
find here? There seem to be two floors to this 
box.” 

The doctor drew his finger along the edge of 
the box until he touched a spring, when the false 
bottom was easily removed, disclosing a quantity 
of gold pieces. 

“Poor old man,” said the doctor pityingly. 
“To think of his living like this with so much 
gold at hand. ” 

“He couldn’t help it,” said Jeff, with quiver¬ 
ing lips. “Don’t yeh dare teh blame him, ’cause 
he was borned that way an’ couldn’t help it!” 

“I am not blaming him, Gilbert; I am only 
sorry for him,” replied the doctor gently. 
“And now let us consider what is to be done. It 
is very late, and I should be going, but I don’t 
like to leave you here alone.” 

“I’m not afeared,” said Jeff. “The night’s 
most half gone now, an’ I’ve got so much teh 
git used teh that I’d like teh be alone.” 

“But with all this money-” 

“Nobody’ll look fer money here. It must ’a’ 
ben here a long time, an’ one more night won’t 
count. ” 

“Are you going to try to sleep, Gilbert?” 

“I’m a-goin’ teh try not teh sleep,” replied 
Jeff promptly. “Teh-night’s the only chance 



234 


S/Ji JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


I’ll ever have teh take care o’ my father. An’, 
doctor, I kin pay fer things now. I’d like teh 
have him buried jest ’bout as yeh’d bury yeh’re 
own father, if yeh had teh do it.” 

“All right, my boy; I’ll attend to it for you. 
I do hate to leave you alone, but there doesn’t 
seem to be any other way.” 

When the doctor had closed the door behind 
him, Jeff turned to the silent figure on the bed. 

“Father,” he said, “oh, father, I’m hopin’ as 
how yeh kin hear me. I love yeh more’n I did 
afore I got yeh’re letter, fer I kin see what a 
good, good man yeh’d ’a’ ben if it hadn’t ben 
fer the love o’ money. Father, I’m a-goin’ teh 
try teh be jest sech a man as yeh’d ’a’ liked teh 
be, an’ I’m goin’ teh try teh find my mother, fer 
yeh hain’t said as how she’s dead. An’ now I’ll 
pertend that we’re all together jest as we’d ’a’ 
ben if it hadn’t ben fer yeh’re love o’ money, 
yeh poor, sufferin’ father!” 



CHAPTER XXX 


Dr. Horton did his best to have the friendless 
old man buried with befitting ceremony. He 
had engaged an undertaker and pall-bearers, 
with carriages for their accommodation. There 
was, besides, but one carriage, in which sat Jeff, 
the doctor and the minister. 

Jeff listened attentively to the short discourse, 
but it made little impression on his mind. He 
had a vague sort of idea that ministers at fune¬ 
rals were a necessary adjunct, as judges were in 
the court-room; but it was a subject which he 
had never seriously considered. 

On their return from the cemetery, Dr. Hor¬ 
ton told Jeff that he had engaged the services of 
a lawyer, who would doubtless be at the house 
as soon as they were. 

“A lawyer!” exclaimed Jeff. “What fer?” 

“To help put your affairs in order, my lad. 
You will need some one sadly, and I believe 
Mr. Graham to be a good man. You do not 
seem to realize, Gilbert, that you are now owner 
of a large property, and that such ownership al¬ 
ways brings grave responsibilities.” 

235 


236 SIR yERRERSOJV NOBODT 


“I hain’t thunk much ’bout it, fer a fac’,’’ 
replied Jeff. “King—I mean my father, alwus 
said as how I didn’t know the value o’ money, 
’cause it’s jest as easy fer me teh give it away 
as teh keep it. ’’ 

“But one may give it where it may do more 
harm than good. That will be a hard lesson for 
a boy like you to learn. But I’m hoping you’ll 
try to learn it. I believe, Gilbert, that you’ll 
try to make good use of your money. ” 

Jeff was silent, but it was evident to the doc¬ 
tor that a new thought had entered his active 
mind, and that it would not be lightly dismissed. 

“I guess,’’ said Jeff, finally, “as how the law¬ 
yer’s a good idee! He kin take care o’ things 
while I’m gettin’ a eddication. I don’t b’lieve 
I’d better go back teh work in the Hunter’s 
Palace.’’ 

“I should think not,’’ replied the doctor, 
smiling a little at the lack of the boy’s apprecia¬ 
tion of the importance of his new position. “And 
you must make arrangements at once to leave 
the shanty.’’ 

“D’ye mean I can’t live there no more?’’ 

“You must try not to want to. You must put 
the old life as far behind you as possible. It is 
the only way you can fit yourself to visit your 
father’s relatives as he desired. I wish you 
could feel as if you would like to come and live 
with me. I meant to insist upon it before I 


SIR yEI^FEiaSOJV NOBODT 237 

heard of your fortune; now, of course, I cannot 
do so.” 

“I don’t see why not.” 

“It would be a little difficult to explain, I 
fear. It would be no one’s business but yours 
and mine if you were homeless and penniless. 
Now, all the world would have something to say, 
and not greatly to my credit.” 

“I guess I git the sense o’ your meanin’, doc¬ 
tor, an’ I don’t keer what the world says. I 
like yeh, an’ I’d like teh live with yeh, but I 
can’t.” 

“Have you thought what you will do?” 

“Not ’zactly. It’s got teh be somethin’ as 
takes in the leetle one.” 

“The little one? Oh, I’d forgotten about the 
baby. ” 

“Yes; leetle Prince Royal. If I’m rich, as 
yeh say, an’ can’t live in Rosebud Villa, why, I 
kin live with him. I don’t know where, though. 
I want suthin’ nice, fer he ought teh have the 
best o’ everythin’. I want him teh be jes’ as 
fine a gentleman as there is goin’.” 

“Well, I’ll see if I can help you. Suppose 
you bring the boy over to my house this even¬ 
ing? Come prepared to stay all night.” 

“Both of us?” 

“Yes, of course. And now here we are, and 
there is the lawyer’s carriage at the door. You 
must give your whole attention to the business 


238 SIR JEFFERSON NOBODT 

in hand, Gilbert, for it is necessary that you 
should know exactly where you stand. I think 
you will have to choose a guardian, for there is 
so much property, and you are not yet of age.” 

“All right; I choose you.” 

“I shouldn’t like to take so much responsibil¬ 
ity. Can’t you think of some one else? Why 
not choose your friend, the editor?” 

“I’ll have yeh both,” said Jeff; and so it was 
finally arranged. 

When at last the doctor and lawyer had taken 
their departure, Jeff looked around the bare little 
room with slowly filling eyes. He knew that it 
was doubtful if he ever spent another night 
there, and he fully realized how very dear the 
old place was to him. But the old man was 
gone, and all his effects had been taken away by 
the lawyer to be deposited in a safety deposit 
vault until such time as he chose to make differ¬ 
ent arrangements. His only instructions to the 
lawyer were to the effect that all the funeral ex¬ 
penses must be paid at once, that a tombstone 
must be erected over his father’s grave, and that 
immediate steps be taken toward pushing his 
father’s invention. 

When they were about to lock the oaken chest, 
the doctor asked Jeff if he did not wish to take 
out some of the gold pieces for immediate ex¬ 
penditures. 

“That mought be a good idee,” replied Jeff, 


S/R yEI^J^EIiSOJV NOBODT 239 

taking out two five-dollar gold pieces. “Mrs. 
Watson may want suthin’ fer the leetle feller.” 

It was such joy to Jeff to feel at liberty to 
mention the baby whenever he wished that al¬ 
ready it served to comfort him a little when his 
heart ached with loneliness over the loss of his 
father. 

“I ’spect it’s mean teh feel so,” he said, 
softly to himself, “but it ud be harder teh git 
along without the leetle prince than ’thout King 
Georgy; yet I hain’t knowed him half so long.” 

Jeff decided to lock up the little shanty, and 
leave it as it was just as long as it would stand. 

“I’ll bring the leetle prince here some day,” 
he said, “when he’s old ’nough teh understand, 
fer, in course, he’ll want teh know all ’bout me! 
He’ll like me so much that he’ll think as how 
everythin’s great if I’m in it, an’ I’ll never do 
nothin’ teh make him ashamed o’ me.” 

Jeff put the old house in order, then went 
out, carefully locking the door behind him. The 
only thing he had forgotten was to attend to the 
fire which still burned cheerfully in the cracked 
stove. He was on his way to the home of Mrs. 
Watson, and it seemed to him that he could 
never get there quickly enough. It had been 
such a long time since he had seen the baby, and 
he reproached himself for having forgotten the 
little fellow even for a moment. 

“I have alwus said as how there was room in 


240 SIR JEFFERSON NO BOOT 

my heart fer them both,” he said, “an’ yet I 
fergot the baby when King—when my father was 
dyin’, an’ now I’m fergittin’ my father ’cause 
I’m glad teh git teh see the baby. It must be as 
how I’m a dretful no-’count feller way down in¬ 
side o’ me.” 

While Jeff hurried along through the snow a 
coal of fire dropped from the old stove to a spot 
on the floor that had become very greasy, and 
before the lad reached his destination the old 
home was in a winding-sheet of flame. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Jeff ran up the steps of the Watson home, and 
rushed into the room without stopping to knock. 

“How is the leetle feller?” he asked breath¬ 
lessly of the eldest girl, who chanced to be in 
the room alone. 

“Oh, Jeff, where have you been all this time?” 
she exclaimed, and then he saw that she had 
been crying. 

“Yer feelin’ bad ’bout suthin’,” he said 
gently. “Let me git the leetle Prince, an’ then 
we’ll talk ’bout it. P’raps I kin help yeh. ” 

As he spoke, he went to the door of the sit¬ 
ting-room, but was met on the threshold by Mrs. 
Watson. 

“Oh, Jeff,” she cried, “has she told you?” 

“Not yet,” replied Jeff. “She’s a-goin’ teh 
tell me while I rock the Prince teh sleep.” 

“Don’t, laddie! Don’t yeh go in there just 
yet. ” 

“Is — he — all — right?” The words came 
slowly, for an awful fear had taken possession 
of Jeff’s mind. 

“He’s very sick,” sobbed Mrs. Watson. 

241 


242 S/Ji ^EFFEJiSON NOBODT 

“We would have sent for you, but we didn’t 
know where you lived. You never told us, you 
know. 

“Me wants me buvver Jelf!” The words 
were feebly spoken, but Jeff heard, and pushing 
upon the door, he flung himself on his knees 
beside the baby’s bed. 

“He has called for you so often,” whispered 
Mrs. Watson. 

“Take baby,” pleaded the little fellow. 
“Baby love buvver Jeff.” 

“Better not,” whispered Mrs. Watson. 

“I won’t hurt him,” replied Jeff. “Oh, do 
let me take him!” 

“It will do no harm,” said the doctor, who 
stood near; and in a moment Jeff had taken the 
little fellow in his arms. He did it as gently as 
a mother could, and tenderly wrapped the 
blankets around him that he might not take cold. 

“Will he git well?” he asked. 

“He is a very sick child,” replied the doctor, 
evasively, and Jeff understood. 

“Send one o’ the kids after Doctor Horton,” 
he said to Mrs. Watson. “Tell him teh run all 
the way. ” 

Doctor Horton chanced to be at home when 
the summons came, and it was not long before 
he was with the grief-stricken boy. He saw at a 
glance that nothing could be done for the baby, 
but he remained with Jeff and took the little 


S/ia ^EI^IT'EJiSOJV NO BOD r 243 

clinging form from his arms when the pure spirit 
had taken its departure. 

“I love you buvver Jeff.” They were the 
last words the baby had spoken, and they rang 
in Jeff’s ears for many days. 

Jeff went home with the doctor, that night. 
He obeyed every suggestion made to him in a 
mechanical sort of way that showed there was no 
independent action of the brain. He did not 
speak of his loss, nor did he shed a tear. The 
baby’s death had completely stunned him. 

Two or three days after little Prince Royal 
had been laid beside the old man in the beauti¬ 
ful cemetery, Jeff made his way into the building 
where he had found employment for so many 
months. He had come early and was dressed 
in his working clothes. 

The “Journal” had printed an account of the 
romantic incidents in the boy’s life, with the 
sorrows that had come to him, and Miss Mil¬ 
dred had just been reading it. She felt, as soon 
as she saw him, that he had no knowledge of the 
printed story, and that he would be subject to 
questions and condolences should he go among 
his old comrades, that would be sure to make 
his heart bleed afresh. She decided to shield 
him, no matter what her uncle might say to her 
taking leave of absence without his permission. 
She dare not ask his permission, fearing a 
refusal. 


244 ‘S'//? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

“Jeff,” she said, taking both his hands, “I 
am so glad to see you.” 

Jeff nodded. “Is my place took?” he asked. 

“Yes, Jeff. Surely you don’t want it now?” 

“I was feared ’twould be. I want teh git teh 
work. I’d like teh begin right now.” 

“You can’t, Jeff, dear. The place is taken. 
And I don’t want you to. I want you to come 
for a walk with me. ” 

She quickly put on her wraps and led the un¬ 
resisting boy to the door. No one else had 
spoken to him, for she had not given them op¬ 
portunity. She could see by Jeff’s face how he 
was suffering, and she felt that she must do or 
say something to relieve him, if only for a little 
while. 

They walked on without speaking until they 
reached Miss Mildred’s home. She felt that she 
could not talk to him where there was anyone 
to see or hear, for her deafness made conversa¬ 
tion difficult always. 

She coaxed him into her own little sitting- 
room, where she made him take an easy chair; 
then she seated herself before him, and placed 
one hand on his knee. 

“Jeff,” she said softly, “I think I know how 
you feel. I also have had dear ones taken away 
from me, and it was hard to bear.” 

There was silence for a moment. Jeff made 
no reply. He was considering what relation her 

























































































































































r 


t 


( 7 ? 








> I 


f 


I • 







I 



• * 




S/Ii JEFFERSON NOBODT 245 

losses could possibly bear to the death of his 
little Prince. 

Then Miss Mildred told how she had suf¬ 
fered, how rebellious she had been, how dark 
the world looked to her, and how hopeless was 
the future. She had a beautiful voice, sweet and 
sympathetic, and as she talked she seemed to live 
over again those months of sorrowing for the 
sake of the lonely boy to whom a vast fortune 
brought no pleasure because he had no one all 
his own whom he could love and for whom he 
could work. 

“Now,” concluded Miss Mildred, “I spend 
long, happy hours trying to imagine what my 
d&ar ones are doing—how they are spending 
their new lives. I should like to know what 
your father is doing now, and if he and the little 
baby have found each other. Do you know, 
Jeff, dear, there are many compensations given 
the blind and deaf? I often think I am glad I 
do not hear well, for now my thoughts are not 
broken in upon by jarring noises. ” 

Jeff was sitting very straight in his chair and 
looking at her with eyes that were slowly widen¬ 
ing with the wonder of the new thoughts she had 
given him. He looked troubled, too, for the 
thoughts were crowding each other closely. 
Miss Mildred had seen him start when she men¬ 
tioned the old man and the baby, and so she had 
changed her topic and talked of the pleasures 


246 6'/^ yEFFERSON NO BOOT 

of being deaf. She wished to give him time to 
strike the keynote of his trouble, that there need 
be nothing vague about the help she meant to 
offer. 

“I always pity the blind or the deaf or the 
bedridden who have not discovered their com¬ 
pensations, for life must be terrible to them. I 
smile when my friends pity me, for I am thinking 
of the beautiful things I hear to which their ears 
are closed. It is inconvenient, to be sure, but 
it is not a case requiring a vast amount of sym¬ 
pathy. ” 

She was quite certain that the boy was not 
heeding a word she said, but she talked on, 
knowing that her soft voice would tend to soothe 
him, and that speech would come after a while, 
and the terrible tension of the last few days be 
broken. 

“Does yeh mean-“ Jeff was leaning for¬ 

ward, looking at her with burning eyes. “Does 
yeh mean as how King—my father an’—an’ the 
leetle feller—is somewheres at this very minit 
a-doin’ suthin’?” 

“That is just what I mean, Jeff.’’ 

“I dare yeh teh prove it!’’ 

“I know it; I do not require proof. You 
want proof that will meet the requirement of 
your eyes and ears—your limited knowledge and 
experience—and I cannot give you that. Do 
you remember where it tells in the Bible about 



S/H NOBODY 247 

those who had eyes and saw not, and ears and 
heard not? Jeff, such people form a large part 
of the world. The proofs of what I am telling 
you are everywhere, and some day, when you’ve 
begun to see and hear, we’ll talk a great deal 
about them. Just at present you need only to 
try to believe that it is so.” 

“But the minister said as how one must re¬ 
pent an’ be baptized afore it was too late-” 

“Poor boy! and you’ve been thinking of that 
in connection with your own father! Don’t you 
suppose he repented every day of his life, that 
he was baptized again and again in his own 
tears?” 

There was a moment’s silence; then Jeff 
leaned back in his chair, drawing a long breath 
of relief. 

“In course!” he said. “It was all in his let¬ 
ter. Wa’al, that fixes that part of it!” 

Miss Mildred could hardly keep from smiling, 
but she made a fine effort and did not hurt the 
boy by so much as a quiver of the eyelids. 

“An’ the harp,” he said, “an’ the streets 
paved with gold! I ’spects now as how yeh kin 
fix that, too, in less’n a jiffy.” 

“Such a description of heaven doesn’t suit 
you, does it, Jeff?” 

“I’d ruther stay here,” replied the boy, 
simply. 

“And so should I if I believed that our home 



248 5 /i? yEFFERSON NOBODY 

beyond was so easily described. In describing 
anything, Jeff, one cannot go very far beyond 
one’s experiences. We are so dependent upon 
our earthly ears and eyes. If you think of it, 
you will see that what the majority of people 
care most about is gold or its equivalent. And 
when they try to picture the ideal heaven they 
get a great deal of gold into it, as a matter of 
course. Now, listen. Heaven cannot be de¬ 
scribed by any mortal, because no living person 
has had the necessary experience. It is more 
wonderful than anything we can possibly im¬ 
agine. There is something within you that will 
tell you so, if only you’ll listen. The descrip¬ 
tions given us are good in so far as they acquaint 
us with the inner workings of the mind of 
the one who wrote the description, or of 
those who find comfort in it. They cannot be 
seriously considered by one who has learned to 
use his eyes and ears.” 

“But what is it like? Tell me ’bout yeh’re 
style o’ heaven. ” 

Jeff’s breath was coming quickly, and his eyes 
were bright with interest. 

“He begins to look like himself now,” 
thought Miss Mildred. 

“I can’t do it, Jeff. I’ve tried many times 
to describe it, but I could never finish the de¬ 
scription, for it is far, far beyond words. I can 
only tell you that I believe your father was not 


5//? JEFFERSON NOBODT 249 

SO very different five minutes after he stepped 
out from the flesh from what he was five minutes 
before. He was himself-’’ 

“I’d like teh think that,’’ interrupted Jeff. 
“He wouldn’t seem so far away.’’ 

“Don’t, Jeff! Don’t think of it like that. 
You are considering your loss as of greater im¬ 
portance than his gain. As long as he lived he 
must have fought against temptations that were 
stronger than himself. Those temptations are 
removed now, and he is given an opportunity to 
live up to the best there is in him. He is full of 
hope and happiness now, and has gone to work 
in earnest.’’ 

“Does yeh really feel that way? zif yer own 
folks what’s dead is livin’?’’ 

“I never think of them as dead. I believe 
that they are more alive than we are. It is 
simply that I cannot see them.’’ 

“Does yeh think as how they’re on earth?’’ 

“They are in the world, just as much as I am. 
This earth doesn’t comprise the world. There 
are other planets to be taken into consideration. 
Heaven is a part of my world. I have a dear 
friend in Europe; but I can’t see her, for my eyes 
are too blind. My dear ones in heaven do not 
seem to me to be any farther away. I expect 
my friend in Europe to come back to me, for she 
is as well off here as there; I do not want my 
friends in heaven to come back, for they are so 



250 S/I? yE/^/^BUSOJV NOBODT 

much better off where they are. Why, Jeff, I’m 
as sure as can be that not one of them can be 
induced to go back into the body five minutes 
after feeling themselves free from it. If you 
can only feel as I do about that you will not 
waste another moment crying because you are 
lonely. You will go to work and live your life to 
the very best of your ability. There is so much 
to do, Jeff—so many to make happy! Can’t you 
try to be eyes and ears for some of those who 
are so blind and deaf that they know only of 
those things that are within the range of their 
own feeble faculties?” 

Jeff arose and went closer to Miss Mildred 
that he might speak into her ear trumpet with¬ 
out an effort. 

“Miss Mildred,” he said, “I’m a-feelin’ bet¬ 
ter. I guess as how I’ve got the sense o’ your 
meanin’, but it’s all mixed up like in my mind, 
an’ I can’t be sure. I’ll come ag’in. ” 

“Do come again,” she replied. “I want to 
have a good long talk about our friends over in 
the beautiful country.” 

With that Jeff left the room, and Miss Mil¬ 
dred noticed that he held his head proudly, as 
he had done before his grief had crushed him so. 
He walked home very slowly, occasionally talk¬ 
ing aloud to himself, as he had a habit of doing 
when thinking earnestly. 

“If the baby was here,” he said, “or King 


5 //? JEFFERSON NOBODT 251 

Georgy, I could pull ’em out o’ the fire an’ not 
say a word if I burned my hand plumb off, per- 
vided I’d saved ’em from sufferin’. Their 
bein’ tuk is suthin’ like it. They’re saved from 
sufferin’, but a part o’ me went with ’em, an’ 
now I’ve got it all straightened out inside my 
thick old head, I’m done snivelin’. I’ll try teh 
git the hang o’ usin’ my eyes an’ ears, as Miss 
Mildred tells ’bout, an’ I’ll git teh work in earn¬ 
est an’ make a man o’ myself as King Georgy 
wanted me teh do. There’s more’n one way o’ 
bein’ a nobleman. Sir Jefferson Nobody!” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


After leaving Miss Mildred, Jeff walked out 
to the place where the old home had stood, and 
gazed long at the heap of ashes. 

“It’s all right,’’ he said, at last. “I’m glad 
yeh’re gone. Yeh wa’ant worth shucks ’thout 
King Georgy. ’’ 

Jeff still clung to the old name when talking 
to himself of the old man, but when speaking of 
him to others he was always careful to say “my 
father. ’’ 

“Good-bye,’’ he said, finally, looking over his 
shoulder at the ruins. “Yer the last o’ the old 
life, an’ now I’ll git a start on the new. In 
course I can’t keep up with King Georgy an’ the 
leetle feller when they hain’t got no bodies teh 
hamper ’em; but I’ll do the best I kin, an’ 
mebby they’ll hang back a leetle, an’ not git 
too fer ahead o’ me.’’ 

Jeff went from the old place straight to the 
cemetery, where he stood with uncovered head 
beside the newly made grave. 

“It’s diff’rent from yisterday,’’ he finally de¬ 
cided. “I don’t feel so much zif they was down 
there in the ground. I wish’t I could look inteh 
252 


s/j^ NOBOD r 253 

the place where they’re walkin’ ’round an’ 
workin’. ” 

As Jeff walked away from the cemetery he 
said to himself: 

“I’m glad it’s diff’rent. I don’t feel so heavy 
like, yet I love ’em an’ miss ’em jes’ as much. 
I guess it’s that suthin’ in me that Miss Mildred 
telled about as is gittin’ in its work. It seems 
teh say, ‘That’s a fac’, teh ev’rythin’ she telled 
me. 

From the cemetery Jeff went to visit Mrs. 
Watson. He had not seen her since the day 
when the baby was buried. Yesterday he had 
felt as if he could never step into that house 
again. To-day it was “different.’’ 

“Oh, Jeff!” exclaimed Mrs. Watson, when he 
opened the door, “ is it really you? I’ve read 
what they said about you in the paper, and I 
thought perhaps you’d never come again.” 

“Humph!” ejaculated Jeff, “yeh know me a 
lot, don’t yeh?” 

“I know others who were once as poor as we 
are, and who are now rich,” said Mrs. Watson. 
“As a rule, the poorer people are, the tonier they 
become when they get money.” 

“Mebbe I’ll be that way, too,” replied Jeff, 
“when I git done a-bein’ what I be now. ’Tain’t 
safe teh make promises ’bout sech things. But 
teh-day I wants teh talk bizness. What d’yeh 
think ’bout havin’ a home o’ yer own?” 


254 yEFFEIiSOJV NOBODT 

“A home of our own? Do you mean it, Jeff? 
Will you buy it for us and let us pay you for it on 
the installment plan?” 

“I reckon not,” replied Jeff. “I’ll buy it, 
an’ give you a deed, an’ that’ll be all there is to 
it, ’cept that I’m goin’ teh have a room in it teh 
occipy when I wants teh. In course, yeh can 
use the room when I hain’t there.” 

“Jeff, I can’t let you do it.” 

“Nop; course yeh can’t. But I kin do it 
’thout any lettin’. Where’s that house picter 
yeh drawed?” 

“Oh, I never really expected to have as large 
a house as that. When I made that plan I was 
just showing you what I should like to have. 
I’ll draw a cottage that won’t cost as much—one 
with three rooms downstairs and two overhead. ” 

While she was talking Jeff had gone to the 
cupboard where he had seen her put her plan of 
her ideal house, and there he found it. He put 
it into his pocket, looking at her with a smile as 
he did so. 

“I’ll jes’ git some figgers on it,” he ex¬ 
plained. “Yeh see. Mis’ Watson, I hain’t fer- 
gitten as how yeh guv a lot o’ mother love teh 
my leetle Prince. I want that love teh come 
back teh yeh in the shape of a house what will 
keep out the cold jest as yeh kep’ it from the 
baby. ” 

Jeff had lived in Doctor Horton’s home since 


Sm JEFFERSON NOBODT 255 

the baby died, although he had not thought of 
it except as a temporary arrangement. He had 
been utterly incapable of making plans, even had 
he wished to, which he had not. On this after¬ 
noon Doctor Horton’s office hours were just at 
an end when Jeff ran up the steps. 

“Why, Gilbert!’’ he exclaimed. “You’ve 
been gone all day. I did not know but you had 
grown tired of us.’’ 

“I was plumb tired o’ myself,’’ said Jeff. 

“You are looking better, my boy.’’ 

“I’m a-feelin’ diff’rent,’’ replied Jeff, simply. 

“And now you want to have a nice long talk 
with me.’’ 

“How d’yeh guess that?’’ 

“Oh, I saw it in your eyes, and I’m glad I 
have no appointments for the next hour. Come, 
let us shut ourselves up in my office.’’ 

“Doctor,’’ said Jeff, with his customary ab¬ 
ruptness, “I ’xpect it’s time teh be plannin’ fer 
the gentleman part o’ this bizness. What comes 
first?’’ 

“I’ve been thinking about that myself. What 
do you say to having a private tutor for a while?’’ 

“I hain’t the one teh do the sayin’, ’cause I 
don’t know nothin’ ’bout it. I’ll do jest as yeh 
say, fer now I’ve made up my mind as how I’ll 
be a gentleman. I wants teh git there as quick 
as I kin. An’ here’s a house teh be built,’’ tak¬ 
ing the rough drawing from his pocket. “I want 


256 Sm JEFFERSON NOBODT 

teh git a lot an’ build the house an’ give it to the 
woman as was good teh my leetle feller.” 

“Very well, Gilbert, I’ll see to it; but you 
must not be too generous with your money. One 
may spend even a large fortune very quickly, 
you know.” 

“There hain’t much danger,” replied Jeff. 
“There hain’t sich a lot o’ folks as has helped 
me; an’ I want teh save plenty o’ money fer my 
mother, when I find her. Have yeh did anythin’ 
’bout that, yet?” 

“Yes, we’ve put advertisements in all the 
leading papers. I think the best way is to offer 
a reward for any authentic information concern¬ 
ing her, don’t you?” 

“I don’t see no better way yit; but if that 
don’t find her. I’ll think of a better way—see ’f 
I don’t. ” 

“Now, about your home, Gilbert. Do you 
think you would like to stay here, or have you 
some other place in view?” 

“Does yeh want me teh stay?” 

“Yes, very much. ” 

“Wa’al, I can’t say much fer yer taste, but 
I’d like teh stay. I’m a-pertendin’ as how my 
mother’ll be like Mrs. Horton when I find her.” 

When this speech was repeated to Mrs. Hor¬ 
ton, she said, with a pretty blush of pleasure, 
that it was the nicest compliment she had ever 
received. 


SII? yBF'J^EjRSOJV NOBODY 257 

That evening, while the doctor was attending 
a patient, Mrs. Horton and Jeff had a nice visit 
together. 

“It’s mighty queer,’’ said Jeff, when they had 
been talking quite confidentially for some time, 
“it’s mighty queer ’bout folkses’ minds.’’ 

Mrs. Horton made no reply, believing that he 
would soon make his meaning clear. 

“I’ve alwus pertended things,’’ he continued, 
“an’ I never knowed where the beginnin’s come 
from, an’ yit a heap o’ my pertends is cornin’ 
true. ’’ 

“Tell me about it, won’t you, Gilbert?’’ 

“I was a-thinkin’ as how I pertended ’bout 
my folks afore I knowed I had any. In course 
I had ’em all purty an’ grand, jes’ as they be in 
their picters! Then I pertended as how I was a 
child o’ fortune, an’ here I be! An’ I pertended 
as how we had titles, an’ only jest teh-day Doc¬ 
tor Horton telled me my uncle is a baronet. In 
course that don’t ’mount teh shucks, but it jes’ 
shows yeh ’bout the pertends. Then I pertended 
’bout heaven an’ their bein’ there, ’cause I’d got 
teh have some ’xcuse why I wasn’t livin’ with 
my folks, an’ I’ll be switched if that pertend 
hain’t more’n half right, tool’’ 

“What makes you think so?’’ asked Mrs. 
Horton, quietly. 

“I’ve talked with Miss Mildred,’’ was the 
confident reply. “She knows all ’bout it—that 


258 s/n yJSFJFBJi:SO^/' NOBOD r 

is teh say, much as anyone kin as hain’t been 
there.” 

“I’m glad you have so nice a friend, Gilbert,” 
said Mrs. Horton, “and some day I’d like to 
hear exactly what she told you. I heard the 
doorbell, just now, which means that I shall 
soon be called into the parlor.” 

“She’s purty similix,” said Jeff to himself, 
as Mrs. Horton left the room. “If my mother 
is like her, what good times we kin have teh- 
gether!” 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

More than a year of hard study followed Jeff’s 
resolution. With him, to determine upon any 
course of action meant to go into it heart and 
soul, and the progress he made in his studies was 
simply wonderful. His tutor, a teacher of abil¬ 
ity and experience, declared that he had taken a 
four years’ course in one year, and might have 
taken more had it been permitted; but then he, 
like all Jeff’s friends, was inclined to become 
enthusiastic when talking of the boy. Jeff was 
not a rote student. The kernel of each new 
task was seized upon by his active and orderly 
mind, studied until it was comprehended and 
compared with what had gone before, then 
tucked away in a convenient corner of his brain 
for future reference. One fact gleaned from 
books formed a nucleus for innumerable ideas 
of his own, and he was, in consequence, one of 
the most satisfactory of pupils. To be sure, his 
speech still retained traces of the street jargon 
he had formerly used, but it was no longer very 
noticeable, and so, in telling of the new Jeff it 
would be unfair to repeat his occasional blunders, 
259 


26 o sm yEFI^EI^SON NOBODr 

more especially since they were a source of great 
annoyance to himself, and he was trying hard to 
overcome them. 

Shortly after Jeff’s eighteenth birthday it was 
decided that he needed a rest and a change. 
Doctor Horton sternly forbade further study, at 
least until the cool October days should arrive, 
and Jeff was told that he might as well begin 
planning his vacation. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if it had been planned 
a long time,” he replied, closing his book 
with a snap, “and that I’ve been too busy 
with my books to notice the coaxing of my 
heart.” 

This was said with the whimsical smile that 
usually accompanied Jeff’s quaint speeches. 

Doctor Horton once said to his wife that it 
was as if the boy’s cultured self were smiling at 
the grotesqueness of his former self. 

“I hope the cultured self will never succeed 
in smiling it all away,” she had replied quickly. 
“I wish Gilbert would never lose his original 
way of putting things, although of course I shall 
be glad when there is no longer a taint of the 
street talk. ” 

But the devoted Mrs. Horton was not present 
on this occasion, and no particular attention was 
paid to this latest remark of her favorite, except 
a quiet, “Well, what is it, Gilbert?” from the 
doctor. 


SIJi yEFJ^EI^S02\r NOBODT 


261 


“I should like to go to Chicago. I want to 
see Paul and Minnie Hawthorne.” 

‘‘I haven’t heard you mention them in so long 
that I thought you had forgotten them.” 

“Oh, no; I think of them often, and read 
their letters every Sunday.” 

“Did you reply to those letters?” 

“No. I’ve been chasing Knowledge, hoping 
to get some help about it, and I haven’t caught 
her yet. ” 

“And meanwhile,” replied the doctor, laugh- 
ing, “you have paid no attention to the demands 
of Friendship and Politeness—goddesses of quite 
as much importance as Knowledge. You must 
learn to give each her due share of attention, 
Gilbert, my boy. ” 

Jeff had straightened himself in his chair, 
when the doctor began speaking, but when the 
mild reproof had been administered, he fell back 
as if thoroughly disgusted with himself. 

“Isn’t that just like me!” he exclaimed. 
“I’m always forgetting something of importance. 
I’ll never, never be gentleman enough to dare 
face my father’s people. When I get a coat of 
veneer on one side, it’s sure to begin to crack off 
the other side!” 

“That is because the heart is growing in the 
right way, and must have room,” replied the 
doctor. “Well, when do you propose starting 
for Chicago? Three weeks from to-day?” 


262 sm y£J^J^EIiSOJ\r NOBODT 

“Might as well start to-night.” 

“To-night! But have you no preparations 
• » 

“Preparations would spoil everything. I’ll 
just tuck a few things into a valise.” Jeff arose 
as he spoke, for, now that the trip had been de¬ 
cided upon, it was like him to go about it at 
once. “I have two hours to train time,” he an¬ 
nounced, looking at his watch. “I can make it 
easily. ” 

“But the Hawthornes, Gilbert! Aren’t you 
going to write them when to expect you?” 

“If I do I’ll take the letter with me,” replied 
Jeff, with a laugh. “I have put off writing so 
long that I’d rather just drop in and explain how 
it happened. ” 

“Well, I presume you’ll have fun surprising 
them.” 

“I’ll go to a hotel first, for I don’t mean to 
stay with them all the time. I want to talk with 
the theatrical managers down there. Some of 
them may remember my mother.” 

And thus it happened that in less than three 
hours from the time Doctor Horton had sug¬ 
gested a vacation Jeff had taken his departure, 
leaving the tutor and the doctor smiling in each 
other’s faces. 

“And now,” said Mr. Willis, the tutor, “as 
I seem to be out of a job, I presume I might as 
well plan my vacation; but I confess that such 



S/J? NOBODr 263 

rapidity of motion bewilders me. Do you sup¬ 
pose the boy has had this thought in mind a 
long time?” 

“I think it is just as he said,” replied the 
doctor; “he has been too busy with his studies 
to listen to the coaxing of his heart.” 

“Just as you entered the room we were outlin¬ 
ing the lessons for to-morrow, and there was not 
the least indication that he did not mean to take 
them. ” 

“And so he would have done, had I not hap¬ 
pened to interfere as I did, and you would have 
found him just as interested in them as he has 
been all along. I confess that I did not expect 
to have my suggestion acted upon so promptly, 
but it is like Gilbert. He always seems to have 
reserve plans that pop up fully matured as soon 
as the slightest opening for them has been made. 
And they never seem to interfere with one an¬ 
other and become confusing, as they would in 
some minds. ” 

“He is in all ways the most interesting pupil 
I have ever had,” replied Mr. Willis. 

“This term will end in two weeks, I believe, 
Mr. Willis,” said the doctor. “You will be 
paid the same as if our pupil had not taken 
French leave, and we shall, of course, expect 
you to take up the work again in the fall.” 

When Jeff’s romantic story had gone the 
rounds of the papers, Paul and Minnie had been 


264 S/B yEJ^rEJ?S02\r NOBODY 

quick to identify the hero with their old friend, 
Sir Jefferson Nobody. They were delighted to 
hear of him once more. They had written 
when first they went abroad, but Jeff had thought 
himself too illiterate to answer what seemed to 
him such very learned letters; so he had put off 
writing until such time as he should be able to 
send a satisfactory reply. 

Paul and Minnie wondered why they did not 
hear from him, and after waiting several months, 
wrote again. This letter was lost on the way. 
Not receiving a reply, they decided that their 
friend must have left Minneapolis, so did not 
write again until they chanced to see the news¬ 
paper story. After reading that, they wrote ex¬ 
pressing sympathy with him in his griefs, and 
joy in the thought that he was no longer to be 
ground down by the exactions of poverty, but 
was given an opportunity to make the most of 
the abilities they were sure he possessed. Re¬ 
ceiving no reply to this third letter, they decided 
that they would not write again. They could 
not help entertaining the fear that wealth had 
changed their old friend—that Gilbert Jefferson 
was a very different boy from Sir Jefferson No¬ 
body—and they both felt as if something quite 
precious had gone out of their lives. 

They chanced to be talking about him at the 
very moment when he rang their doorbell. 

“Well,” Paul was saying, “I can’t find any 


5 /i? JEFFERSON NOBOD T 265 

excuse for Jeff’s conduct; but neither do I feel 
like blaming him-” 

“He is doing that for himself,’’ said a voice 
at the door, and Jeff motioned to the servant 
who had shown him in, that her assistance was 
no longer necessary. He wanted to greet his 
friends unobserved. 

Paul and Minnie gazed at him for the space 
of a second in silent astonishment; then there 
was a sudden forward rush in which no account 
was taken of obstructing furniture. 

Minnie reached him first, but then he may 
have been partially responsible for that, for no 
sooner was she within reach than he caught her 
and kissed her heartily on both cheeks. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, holding both hands to 
her crimsoning face, “you shouldn’t have done 
that!” 

“Why not?” he asked, giving Paul a kiss 
also. “Isn’t it the proper way to greet rela¬ 
tives?” 

“Relatives, perhaps,” admitted Minnie, “but 
we are not relatives.” 

“Oh, dear, now you have spoiled it all!” Jeff 
sank into a chair, the picture of dismay, all but 
his eyes, which were dancing with mischief. 
“All the way here,” he said, “I’ve been a-per- 
tendin’ as how you an’ Paul was my brother an’ 
sister what died, an’ it was so real teh me-” 

“It is Sir Jefferson Nobody, sure enough!” 




266 


s/Ji y^Bi^j^EJiSOJsr nobodt 


exclaimed Paul, in a rapture of delight. “Jeff, 
do you really pretend things just as you used 
to?” 

‘‘Pretty much, I fancy,” replied Jeff, ‘‘al¬ 
though there is a change as to the character of 
my day dreams. But I really knew better than 
to greet you as I did. Miss Minnie, and I apolo¬ 
gize.” 

‘‘I’ll forgive you, if you’ll agree not to say 
Miss to me until you begin to call my brother 
Mister,” replied Minnie, merrily; ‘‘but you 
mustn’t do it again really.” 

‘‘Must I not? Well, I’ll try to remember; 
but when a fellow longs for relatives and hasn’t 
any— Why, Paul, I’ve been living among stran¬ 
gers for more than a year! Just to see you 
warms me through and through.” 

‘‘To see you—well, it’s simply too good to 
believe. Why haven’t you come before?” 

‘‘Why haven’t you written?” interrupted 
Minnie. ‘‘We thought you did not care to keep 
up the acquaintance.” 

‘‘Oh, no!” interrupted Jeff, ‘‘you couldn’t 
have thought that,” and when Minnie looked 
into his honest eyes she wondered how she had 
ever entertained so silly a notion. 

Jeff had really a very vague idea of the enormity 
of the offense he had committed in paying no at¬ 
tention to the letters these two friends had writ¬ 
ten. He had entertained the thought that the 



PAUL AND MINNIE GAZED AT HIM FOR THE SPACE OF A SECOND 























































































































































































5 /i? yEFJ^EBSOJV NOBODT 267 

temporary break in the friendship was a loss only 
to himself, for he could not see how anyone 
whose life was so full as theirs must be could 
feel much loss in being separated from one of so 
little importance as himself. As for his fortune 
—it had not occurred to him that it could pos¬ 
sibly form a barrier between them. 

“I’ll tell you all about it,’’ he said, “and I’m 
not sure that we’ll be able to find a ghost of an 
excuse for my conduct in the entire yarn; but 
I’m hoping you’ll bring out your mental micro¬ 
scopes for my benefit.’’ 

Then how those young folks did talk! Mrs. 
Hawthorne entered into the spirit of the occasion, 
and served lunch in the library, where the three 
young people were allowed to eat by themselves, 
and their conversation need not be interrupted 
by anyone who could not possibly feel the same 
absorbing interest in it. They talked all the 
afternoon, and Jeff stayed to dinner, and spent 
the evening, and when he said that he really 
must go back to the room he had engaged at the 
hotel—that he much preferred making that place 
his headquarters for the present, as he had busi¬ 
ness to transact—Paul went with him with the 
avowed purpose of remaining with him all night. 
It seemed the only way, for both boys declared 
that there were many things yet to be talked of 
that positively could not wait! 

“Well,’’ said Minnie, pouting, “you may go, 


268 SIN yENNBNSOJV NOBODT 

but you’ll not enjoy yourselves half as much as 
you expect to, for you’ll have to think how cru¬ 
elly you are leaving me out of the conversation. ” 
“Not a secret shall be whispered between 
us,’’ declared Jeff, raising one hand as if to take 
his oath in a court of justice. “I hereby prom¬ 
ise that we’ll only talk of ordinary things, and 
that you shall not be forgotten for a moment!’’ 




CHAPTER XXXIV 


Minnie blushed over Jeff’s unexpected prom¬ 
ise, and promptly closed the door upon the two 
boys. 

“He does say awful things,’’ she told herself, 
“but one can see that he is only in fun, and one 
can’t help forgiving him. How handsome he 
has grown, and how gentlemanly—no, that isn’t 
the word; he was always a gentleman, but now 
he is really quite polished. We must stop call¬ 
ing him Jeff. It is a horrid name; while Gilbert 
Jefferson is very different. To be sure, there 
are a good many Jeffersons—oh, I wonder!’’ 

Minnie had been slowly ascending the stairs on 
the way to her room, while these thoughts were 
going through her brain, but with the exclama¬ 
tion she wheeled suddenly, rushed downstairs, 
and in another moment had thrown open the 
library door and was perching upon the knee of 
her surprised Uncle John. 

“Oh, Uncle John!’’ she exclaimed, “I do 
believe I’ve found Jeff’s mother!’’ 

Mr. Hawthorne looked confused. He had 
been carried away by the paper he was writing, 
269 


270 si/i NOBOD r 

and the present interruption was annoying, to 
say the least; but he could never show much 
irritability where Minnie was concerned. 

“Don’t you understand?” she said, giving him 
a little shake. “I’m talking about Jeff’s mother. 
You know he hasn’t found her yet. He is hop¬ 
ing to hear about her while he is in the city, and 
that Mrs. Jefferson who does fine sewing—don’t 
you remember her? I always said she looked 
like some one I knew. She has eyes like 
Jeff’s.” 

“Has she? I don’t remember that I ever saw 
her eyes, but perhaps you’re right. Why don’t 
you talk with your aunt about it?” 

“Because,” giving him another shake, “she 
is at her club. Besides, I’d rather talk with you. 
Please, uncle, don’t look at that paper just as if 
you were dying to get at your writing.” 

Mr. Hawthorne laughed. “Why, Puss,” he 
said, “what good can possibly come from talk¬ 
ing about it to-night? To-morrow we’ll see 
her-” 

“But I want to see her to-night. Uncle John! 
I want you to go with me this minute!” 

“Oh, my child, that is quite impossible.” 

“Please, please. Uncle John, don’t say that. 
I’ll be so disappointed—and you know I don’t 
tease like this very often.” 

“I should say not,” was the sarcastic re¬ 
sponse, but it was made with a kiss and a smile, 



Sim yEmmEmsojv no body 


271 


and Minnie’s feelings were not wounded in the 
least. Although she knew her uncle loved her 
so foolishly that he could seldom deny her any¬ 
thing, she was usually careful not to presume on 
that knowledge, for she had never been at all 
selfish. 

“I’ll do something very nice for you, ’’ coaxed 
Minnie. 

“But why won’t to-morrow do, you little 
witch?’’ 

“Jeff is coming early.” 

“So much the better. He can go with you.” 

“I don’t want him to know anything about it 
until we are sure. It would be a dreadful disap¬ 
pointment. ” 

“Well, I’ll go to-morrow. You would not be 
obliged to mention it until-” 

“Oh, yes, I should, uncle,” interrupted Min¬ 
nie. “I just couldn’t keep it a minute; you 
know I couldn’t.” 

“Yes,” with a smothered laugh; “I rather 
think you’re right about that.” 

“Oh, Uncle John, you’ll go! I know you 
will. It is sticking right out of your eyes. I’ll 
get your boots, and you can change your slip¬ 
pers for them right here. And I’ll tell Jerry to 
get out the covered carriage at once.” 

“But, Minnie, suppose Mrs. Jefferson has re¬ 
tired?” 

“She’ll be sitting up, sewing,” replied Min- 



272 S/B JEFFERSON NOBODT 

nie, confidently. “And if she isn’t, I’ll awaken 
her. It will be worth while-’’ 

“Providing she is the proper party,’’ inter¬ 
rupted Mr. Hawthorne, drawing on his boots. 

“If she isn’t,’’ replied Minnie, “I’ll give her 
my new five-dollar gold piece, and that will 
make her feel a little better about it.’’ 

When Mr. Hawthorne and Minnie had 
climbed the innumerable staircases leading to 
the room which Mrs. Jefferson called home, 
they saw a narrow streak of light beneath her 
door, and knew that she was still at work. 

“You go in, Minnie,’’ said Mr. Hawthorn^, 
who had a man’s horror of a scene, and I’ll wait 
for you here.’’ 

Minnie tapped at the door, then opened it 
herself and went in, closing it again behind 
her. 

“I thought I’d save you the trouble of waiting 
upon me,’’ she explained. “No, I’ve not come 
for auntie’s centerpiece,’’ as Mrs. Jefferson held 
the bit of work up to let her see how much it 
lacked of being finished. “I just wanted to ask 
you if your husband’s name was George Henry 
Jefferson.’’ 

It was not at all what Minnie meant to have 
said; but how many of us manage to go through 
a difficult task as we have planned to do it? 

Mrs. Jefferson let her hands drop in her lap, 
and her pale face became a little more ashen. 



5 //? JEFFERSON NOBODT 273 

“That is his name, “ she said. “Why do you say 
was?” 

“Oh, Mrs. Jefferson, I’ve something so good 
to tell you, and yet so sad. But my uncle is 
waiting in the hall. Put on your wraps, for 
you’re going home with us.” 

In the next second Minnie was calling for 
help, for Mrs. Jefferson had fainted. 

“I was just telling her we were going to take 
her home with us,” explained Minnie to her 
uncle, “and she doubled up and toppled right 
over. ” 

“Get me some water, Minnie.” Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne had picked the unconscious woman up in 
his arms and carried her to the bed. “By the 
way,” he added, “do you think it wise to take 
her home with us?” 

“Why, of course! We can’t leave her here 
alone. ” 

“But she may not be the right one. ” 

“She said her husband’s name was George 
Henry. ” 

Mr. Hawthorne was about to reply that it 
was barely possible that the world might hold 
two men by the name of George Henry Jeffer¬ 
son, when Mrs. Jefferson opened her eyes. 
When they rested upon Minnie, she said faintly, 
“Have you news of Gilbert, my son?” 

“Yes, madam, good news,” replied Mr. Haw¬ 
thorne, smiling a little as he caught the look of 


sm yEJ^J^EHSON NOBOD r 


274 

triumph in Minnie’s bright eyes. “Do you feel 
stronger? My niece says you are to accompany 
us home, and what she says usually goes, I be¬ 
lieve. ’’ 

Minnie found Mrs. Jefferson’s wraps, and put 
them on her, then held the light at the head of 
the stairs while Mr. Hawthorne helped the trem¬ 
bling woman to the street door. 

When all three were comfortably seated in 
the carriage, Minnie began to tell the story of 
Jeff’s life, and how, ever since his father’s death, 
he had been hunting for his mother. 

“Shall I see him to-night?’’ she asked, as she 
entered the house. 

“We’d better ask Mrs. Hawthorne’s advice,’’ 
suggested Mr. Hawthorne, who had guessed that 
Minnie meant to send the coachman to Jeff’s 
hotel at once. “It strikes me, madam, that you 
need a little rest before subjecting yourself to 
further excitement.’’ 

Mrs. Hawthorne confirmed that opinion when 
she had heard the story, and soon succeeded in 
convincing her unexpected but very welcome 
guest that Gilbert also needed rest. 

“We’ll all have a little lunch here together,’’ 
she said, “and then we’ll try to get rested for 
the finest to-morrow ever planned.’’ 

It was like Mrs. Hawthorne to serve luncheon 
for four, that the one to be benefited might not 
feel herself an object of charity. They were all 


SIJ^ JEFFERSON NOBODT 275 

so pleasant and chatty that Mrs. Jefferson for¬ 
got the last few years for the moment and be¬ 
came more like the woman of grace, beauty and 
talent who had been driven from her husband’s 
home to a hand-to-hand struggle with the world 
for the necessaries of life. 


CHAPTER XXXV 


Mrs. Jefferson was awake the next morning 
when Mrs. Hawthorne tapped at her door. 

“I want you to look very pretty when that 
boy of yours arrives,” said Mrs. Hawthorne, 
playfully, ‘‘and so you must have breakfast in 
bed and stay there at least an hour longer.” 

She placed a temptingly spread tray on a little 
stand beside the bed, then turned to go out. 

‘‘When I come for that tray I’m going to 
bring one of my prettiest wrappers,” she said. 
‘‘Will you wear it?” 

‘‘Oh, I’d rather not, please. My black dress 
will doubtless be as good as anything Gilbert can 
afford.” 

They had not told her that her son was 
wealthy, thinking it only fair to Jeff to leave him 
something to tell. 

‘‘I don’t want to force it upon you,” said 
Mrs. Hawthorne, ‘‘but you know there are few 
boys who like black. I have taken to wearing 
much brighter colors since Paul came to live with 
us.” 

‘‘Well,” with hesitation, ‘‘if you are willing 
276 


JEFFERSON NOBODX 277 

to lend the wrapper. I used to be considered 
quite presentable, but of course Gilbert will not 
remember that.” 

It was, however, a really handsome woman 
who met Mrs. Hawthorne in the hall an hour 
later. 

“Oh,” Mrs. Hawthorne exclaimed, “are you 
dressed? I was just coming to see. How nice 
you look, and Gilbert is waiting for you in the 
library. We have told him to expect you. 
This way, please.” 

A moment later mother and son were locked 
in each other’s arms. It had been arranged by 
their kind-hearted hostess that this meeting, so 
sacred to them both, should not be interrupted; 
but when an hour had passed Minnie announced 
that she simply could not stand it another mo¬ 
ment! If her family really wished to see her 
lifeless body stretched upon the floor they could 
be gratified by preventing her from knocking for 
admittance on the library door. Then a great 
stretch of the imagination having converted that 
last statement into rhyme, she remembered that 
she must wish before she spoke again and the 
wish would come to pass. Crossing herself in a 
comical way, she said: “I wish they would say 
‘Come in,’ when I rap on the door,” and straight¬ 
way marched across the hall. 

“Aren’t you two ever going to let the rest of 
us in?” she called through the keyhole, and Jeff 


278 SIJi JEFFERSON NOBOD T 


opened the door immediately. There were 
traces of tears on his cheeks, but a happy smile 
made them quite inconspicuous. 

“Isn’t she just the loveliest mother!” he ex¬ 
claimed. “I would not have her changed in any 
particular, and I wouldn’t trade her off for all 
the mothers in the world.” 

“Oh, Gilbert, don’t be absurd!” admonished 
his mother, trying not to look too pleased over 
her boy’s undisguised admiration. 

“Is it absurd for a fellow to be in love with 
his mother?” asked Jeff. “If so, I’m afraid you 
can’t break me of it. It has been a long time 
since I had anyone all my own, and you’re very 
precious, you old sweetheart!” 

It was almost as amusing as it was touching 
to see Jeff with his mother. It did not seem to 
occur to him that one should not always be as 
demonstrative as one liked before others. He 
had never had an opportunity to study the home 
relations between boys and their mothers, and 
had always supposed that every motherless lad 
longed for love as he did, and would be as 
openly overjoyed suddenly to find himself in 
possession of a mother. 

“An actual flesh-and-blood mother!” he said 
once, giving her arm a little pinch that made 
her jump, then administering a bear-like hug by 
way of reparation. 

“I had to do it, precious,” he explained. “I 


5 /i? JEFFERSON NOBODT 279 

wanted to see you jump just to be sure that you 
are actually alive. ” 

“Jeff—beg pardon—Gilbert, you are so very 
hard on your mother!” exclaimed Mrs. Haw¬ 
thorne, reprovingly; but even as she said it, she 
looked almost as if she envied the mother. 

“Am I?” asked Jeff, looking penitent at 
once. “I don’t mean to be, mother. I sup¬ 
pose I don’t know exactly how mothers should 
be treated, and you must tell me when I do any¬ 
thing wrong. ” 

“I fancy I shall not have many complaints to 
make,” replied Mrs. Jefferson, with her sweetest 
smile. “You are very like the son I have 
dreamed of all these years.” 

And then she was nearly strangled with 
kisses, and patted so vigorously on the shoulders 
that she almost winced, and subjected to many 
odd caresses that every one laughed to see; all of 
which she bore like a martyr because they were 
given by her boy. 

Jeff and his mother remained with the Haw¬ 
thornes more than a week. The mother had 
been told of the fortune her husband had left 
and of the invention that was a fortune in itself, 
and she had seen the. wisdom of Mrs. Haw¬ 
thorne’s suggestion that she remain with them 
until she had replenished her wardrobe in a man¬ 
ner befitting her position. 

“And then we’ll go to Minneapolis,” said 


28o S/J? JEFFERSON NOBODT 

Jeff. “I have written to Mrs. Horton about 
you, and to Miss Mildred, and I shan’t be quite 
happy until I have had a chance to show you off. 
They’re going to be awfully surprised when 
they see what a handsome mother an ugly chap 
like me can have. ” 

“But they will not see me through your eyes, 
Gilbert. ’’ 

“No,’’ thoughtfully, “I don’t suppose they 
will. They are judges of beauty, and I don’t 
suppose I know half enough to appreciate you!’’ 

Mrs. Jefferson looked nonplused, and Mrs. 
Hawthorne laughed. It was very evident that 
the boy could not be made to see that there 
might be any flaw in his mother—either in char¬ 
acter, manner, or personal appearance. 

“Who is Miss Mildred?’’ she asked by way of 
changing the conversation. 

Jeff looked up in astonishment. 

“Is it possible,’’ he asked, “that I haven’t 
told you about Miss Mildred! Why, she is my 
twin soul!’’ 

It was the mother’s turn now to look aston¬ 
ished. 

“Indeed!’’ she said, “and what may that be?’’ 

“Oh, she knows, and so do I. We are not 
obliged to define it. She is a saint on earth. 
She has ears and eyes that are different from 
those given to most of us, and when you are with 
her, talking intimately, you know, you can’t 


S/B yEFFEIiSON NOBODT 281 

think of much except how nice it would be to go 
to heaven, if only one had done his work just 
right here. We’ve made a good many plans to¬ 
gether about father and the little Prince, and 
her mother and brother and sister. We always 
like to begin right at the beginning, when they 
first stepped out of the body, and try to fancy 
their astonishment when they found themselves 
free. And we guess how long it took them to 
realize that they were not coming back here to 
suffer any more, and then we guess what they 
did first, after realizing that fact. I think most 
of them traveled at first, to see the new country 
and get acquainted with the people on the dif¬ 
ferent planets; but of course her mother didn’t 
do that! Being a mother, I suspect that she 
began to take care of the babies who came over 
alone, or of other people who were a little afraid 
when they first discovered that they had gone 
from the old home for good. Oh, there’s Paul! 
I wonder which bicycle he decided to take.” 

At the next moment Jeff was on the veranda, 
examining Paul’s new bicycle with as much boy¬ 
ish interest as he could possibly have shown had 
he never had a thought above the most ordinary 
events of life. He had been so interested in try¬ 
ing to give his mother an idea of Miss Mildred 
that he had not thought how long a speech he 
was making or realized that there had been no 
response. It would have been quite impossible 


282 


S/H JEFFERSON NOBODY 


for him to understand that all people who knew 
Miss Mildred might not love and reverence her 
as he did. She had come into his life when he 
most needed her, and her image could never be 
effaced from his heart. 

The three ladies looked at each other for a 
moment; then Mrs. Hawthorne said: “There is 
no doubt of his love for Miss Mildred.” 

“Or for anyone else to whom he takes a 
fancy,” replied the mother. “I wonder what 
she is like.” 

“She must be quite an old maid now,” said 
Minnie. “She wasn’t young when Paul knew 
her, and she is very hard of hearing. I judge by 
what Paul has told me, that she is far from being 
pretty, but that she has a very sweet face. She 
worked where Paul did, and I think she tries to 
be very nice to homeless boys.” 

“She has evidently given my boy a very real 
idea of the life beyond this and one that affords 
him comfort.” 

“I didn’t suppose there lived a boy who could 
talk so freely on such a topic,” said Mrs. Haw¬ 
thorne. 

“Gilbert appears to have few secret thoughts 
about anything,” replied his mother, with a 
smile. “In this case, he was so intent on de¬ 
scribing his friend that he thought of nothing 
else.” 

“I should like to know where he gets all his 


S/J^ JEI^J^EIiSOJV NOBODT 283 

queer ideas,” said Minnie, ‘‘about the proper 
uses of inherited property, and such things, you 
know. ” 

‘‘Are you going to encourage him to spend 
his money as he proposes?” asked Mrs. Haw¬ 
thorne. 

‘‘I agree with him that he should invest the 
money brought in by the patent in some way that 
will benefit the poor, and be a monument to his 
father’s memory,” said Mrs. Jefferson. ‘‘And I 
am not disposed to quarrel with him about the 
other investments, although I want him to wait 
before making any disposition of his property 
until his judgment has had proper time to 
mature. I should not be surprised if he were 
right in thinking himself a journalist by nature, 
and I want him to have a paper of his own, as he 
proposes.” 

The entrance of the two boys at that juncture 
put a stop to further conversation on that topic. 

For a boy who had never had a sister Jeff got 
along wonderfully well with Minnie, his only 
fault being that he saw no reason why he should 
not treat her just as familiarly as Paul did. He 
teased her whenever he had the opportunity, but 
he always took her part when others attempted 
to tease her, and sometimes with an earnestness 
that she found quite as uncomfortable as the 
teasing would have been. It was very evident 
that he had given her a place in his heart of 


284 S/B JEFFERSON NO BOOT 

hearts—the place he held sacred to his own peo¬ 
ple, Miss Mildred, the doctor and his wife and 
the entire Hawthorne family. Once enshrined 
there, they became his special property, to be 
treated ever afterward with appropriate consider¬ 
ation. 

The Hawthornes were very anxious that Jeff 
and his mother should buy a home near them; 
but the boy could not be persuaded to consider 
any such proposition until he and his mother had 
had a long talk with his guardians. 

“They’ve done their best for us, mother 
dear,’’ he said, “and I don’t want them to think 
I am done trusting them just because I’ve come 
into possession of a mother.’’ 

“You are right in that,’’replied Mrs. Jefferson. 

“And I can’t see that it will make very much 
difference where we live, so long as we are to¬ 
gether in a home all our own. Oh, mother, you 
darling, precious daisy, can you realize that we 
are actually to have a home of our own!’’ 

Then he went to her and took a stool at her 
feet, where he could lay his head in her lap. 

“They have all gone out,’’ he said, “so we 
can visit all by ourselves. Tell me again just 
how you mean to fix the house. Begin with the 
parlor.’’ 

“Well, I think the woodwork should be curly 
maple-’’ 

“You said birch the other day—curly birch!’’ 



SIR JEFRERSON NOBODT 285 

“How well you remember! I have been 
thinking that curly maple would make the room 
more cheerful, and we’ll have the dining-room 
finished in birch. ’’ 

“And the silk-covered chairs for the parlor! 
Don’t change them! They’ll be so pretty. I’ll 
remember to be very careful when I go into that 
room, for it must look like a picture. And, 
mother, we’ll have a picture of you in every 
room!’’ 

Mrs. Jefferson smiled, but wisely decided not 
to try just yet to dissuade him from his fancy for 
such a multiplicity of photographs. Instead, 
she went on with her description of the home 
that was one day to be his; for she knew from 
experience what a home-hungry soul can suffer, 
and she was glad that he could find happiness in 
so innocent a pastime. Again and again her 
grateful heart overflowed with thanksgiving that 
God had given her back her boy, and that he 
was so noble and manly and lovable! 

At last the day came when the mother and 
son were to take the train for Minneapolis. 

“I won’t cry,’’ declared Mrs. Hawthorne, 
“for I mean to see you again very soon. I am 
consumed with curiosity as to how long this boy 
will be allowed to maltreat his mother!’’ 

“Now, what have I done?’’ asked Jeff. 

“Not an hour ago I caught you sitting on the 
lap of your frail little mother.’’ 


286 5 //? JEFFERSON NOBODY 

Jeff laughed. “I just wanted to see if she 
could hold me,” he said. “Of course, I mean 
to hold her most of the time.” 

When good-byes had been said, and Jeff had 
helped his mother into the carriage, he ran back 
for a parting word with Mrs. Hawthorne. 

“I forgot to kiss you good-bye,” he said, 
coolly retrieving his error, and then he whispered 
in her ear: 

“Don’t tell Minnie; but some day I am com¬ 
ing to take her away from you for good! I 
want her in my own home.” 

With that astonishing announcement he was 
gone, and the little group of four unconsciously 
drew closer to one another, for Jeff had left a 
feeling of loneliness among them. 

“ Sir Jefferson Nobody,’’said Mr. Hawthorne, 
musingly; “a nobleman and a gentleman in 
every sense of the word.” 


THE END. 


The Scrape that 
Jack Built 

By OTTILIE A. LILJENCRANTZ 

Illustrated, i zmo, 248 pages. ^1.25 

tJSi) 

“ The Scrape that Jack Built ” is a bright and amusing story 
of a boy who was always getting himself into trouble. There is 
much about the tale that reminds one of Miss Alcott’s “ Eight 
Cousins.” The young people adopt a family of orphaned children, 
and their efforts to raise money and educate them makes good 
reading.— The Bookseller^ New York. 

It is one of the prettiest stories which have appeared this 
season, attractively told and will interest young people of either 
sex.— Commercial Advertiser^ New Yook. 

This is very sure to be a popular favorite, for the boys and girls 
are real and so are their scrapes, and the fun in the book is not more 
amusing than the serious teaching is wholesome. Lessons of genuine 
manhood will be learned from its pages without any conscious effort 
on the part of the reader.— Congregationalisty Boston. 

The boys and girls of this book are just as natural as the boys 
and girls we know, just as interesting as the heroes and heroines of 
our best story-writers; and it is a pleasure to come across a book 
which can be so heartily recommended from several different points of 
view.— Christian Register^ Boston. 

It is just as good a story as the title suggests. It is brimful of 
boyish pranks and girlish sweetness, and has the rare quality, in 
books for young people, that it appeals to all without distinction of 
sex .—TimeSy Washington, D.C. 


FOR SALE BY BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY, OR WILL BE SENT 
POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF THE PRICE, BY THE PUBLISHERS 


A. C. McCLURG & CO., Chicago 




The : 

Big-H 


A THRILLING 
STORY OF 
- GOLD 

orn ’LINING 


Treasure 


A Tale of Rocky Mountain Adventure 
By JOHN F. CARGILL 

I 2mo. 327 pages. With 20 full page illustrations 
..Price. ^1.25 

The author’s powers of description are exceptionally good, and 
the mountain scenery is presented to the reader in a very vivid 
manner. The story is told in a simple, straightforward way, and 
much valuable information is given in the form of conversation, 
robbing it of any semblance to dullness.— Saturday Rvening 
Gazette^ Boston. 

Not only is the story interesting in itself and well told, but 
it also imparts much information relative to mining matters and fur¬ 
nishes an excellent picture of rough life in the wilds of the Rockies. 
—Times, Boston, 

It is a splendid book for boys, full of noble, invigorating 
thoughts, and all will agree that the little band, whose adventures it 
recites, fully deserved the fortune which met them when they chanced 
upon the gold quartz vein and named it “The Big-Horn Treasure.” 
—Home Journal, New York. 

^ Filled with exciting and perilous exploits it will hold the at¬ 
tention of all boy readers and even girls, who delight in clean, lively 
stories of adventure, and should, as a result, enjoy considerable popu¬ 
larity.— Tribune, Minneapolis. 


FOR SALE BY BOOKSELLERS GENERALLY, OR WILL BE SENT 
POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF THE PRICE, BY THE PUBLISHERS 


A. C. McCLURG & CO., Chicago 





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